


Opt Out

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass Castiel, Biphobia, Boys Kissing, Catholicism, Cole is a dick, Conservative attitudes re: sexual education, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Face Punching, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Masturbation, Mathematics, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Past Abuse, Protective Castiel, Religious Castiel, Self-Esteem Issues, Swearing, Teacher Dean, Victim Blaming, destiel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 34,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: It starts with a checked box and a signature on a permission slip: “I do not wish for my child to receive sexual education through the school district and request that he or she be removed to a study hall for the duration of this section of the 7th Grade Health Class curriculum.” Dean resolves to meet with Claire Novak's legal guardian, in the hopes that he might convince Castiel to change his mind. It's no big deal. He's met with parents before on the subject... not that he's ever succeeded, but he tries. He always tries.It's obvious from their first meeting that Castiel isn't at all like other parents.





	1. Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt: "Dean is a sex ed teacher." It's a simple prompt and could've been a simple PWP, but my hand slipped and, whoops, here we are.
> 
> I'm starting to post this while it's still a WIP, but please note that at the time of this first posting, I have 24 chapters completed, and the rest of the story planned out. I'll likely add 2-3 chapters each week, doing my best to leave you off at a cliffhanger each time, because I'm sadistic like that. :)
> 
> A huge THANK YOU to my betas, Jenn and Katy, and to everyone who told me to put on my big girl panties and start posting this even though it's not technically complete just yet. Your vote of confidence is overwhelmingly appreciated.
> 
> I've been working on this for months... it's the longest thing I've written in quite some time. Hopefully it's worth the wait.
> 
> One final note, in case this is a culture thing: I don't know if this is true everywhere, but when I was growing up (in a small, conservative town in the American Midwest), parents had to give permission for their child to receive sexual education from the public school system. It's around this experience that I set the stage for this story. I also tapped into my own memories when touching on things like homophobia, biphobia, and religion. I know that in other stories I've accidentally stood up on a soap box through my characters... I'm trying very hard not to do that here, but if it seeps through, I apologize in advance. :)
> 
> Happy Reading.

Dean sighed as he came across the Inevitable Opt Out.

_ Of course _ there was one.

There was always  _ at least _ one.

One parent who couldn’t let their precious, naive, innocent child be corrupted with the truth.

One parent who read the Sexual Education permission slip and made a conscious (although in Dean’s opinion, uninformed and entirely  _ stupid _ ) decision to check the box next to  _ “I do not wish for my child to receive sexual education through the school district and request that he or she be removed to a study hall for the duration of this section of the 7th Grade Health Class curriculum.” _

This year’s lucky winner was Claire Novak, and her permission slip was about three-quarters of the way through Dean’s pile, signed and dated yesterday by one Castiel Novak.

Dean knew a thing or two about Claire, and by association, Castiel. He knew that Castiel wasn’t Claire’s father, to begin with. He was her uncle, and somewhat of an odd duck, but that could just be the natural effect of being thrust into the role of guardian of a 12-year-old newly orphaned girl with zero preparation upon the death of his identical twin and his wife and…

Yeah. But anyway.

From where Dean stood, none of that made a hoot of difference in whether or not Claire should receive a factual education in human sexuality. She was either going to learn the facts in the classroom, or she was going to learn them… elsewhere… and that. Well.

Dean shuddered. Strictly from a professional standpoint, he never let his brain go too far down that rabbit hole. 

He finished paging through the stack of papers just to be sure there weren’t any other unfortunate souls, and when there weren’t, he straightened the stack and set Claire’s slip on top as a reminder and wrote “OPT OUT” in red marker at the top.

Then he put the stack of papers into a blue file folder and, for the first time in a half hour, took his feet off his coffee table, sat up, and stuck the folder back into his messenger bag, which he then closed up and tossed to the far end of the table before grabbing his open but still-full beer bottle and kicking crossed ankles up onto the couch and taking a long, well-earned swig.

It was quiet for all of ten seconds, and that was long enough. Dean’s fingers scrambled for the remote, and he clicked on the TV, settling on a basketball game for background noise.

Then his phone rang, and he rolled his eyes because… timing. He glanced at the screen just long enough to verify the caller.

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled under his breath, letting his thumb hover over the call button for a ring before clearing his throat and answering. “I thought I told you to lose my number.”

“Dean, listen. I know-- I know I screwed up, all right? I know I let my temper get the better of me, but come on. I said I was s--”

“No. This isn’t a decision you get to make, Cole. I said we’re done, and we’re done.”

“I don’t think you mean that.”

“Oh you don’t? Fuck’s sake, Cole, you gave me a black eye.”

“I apologized!”

Dean just huffed out a humorless laugh. “Your ears still work, right?”

“Yes, and I--”

“Then I’ll say it again. Lose. My number. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t show up at my house. Don’t show up at my school. Don’t send me flowers.  _ Don’t _ .” He punched at the call button and threw his phone across the room.

He heard something crack, but couldn’t be bothered to give a damn.

In the quiet, he heaved a semi-relaxing breath and resumed his repose across the couch, taking a long swig from his beer bottle and keeping it in hand. His eyes drifted back to the game.

His mind kept pulling the focus back to his folder of sex ed permission slips. A glance at his watch says it’s too late to be calling Mr. Novak tonight, but he makes a point to follow up.

Maybe the guy’s parenting inexperience is the only thing causing him concern. Maybe he can turn this one around before they officially start on the Human Sexuality Unit next week.

Maybe.


	2. Castiel

“Claire! Bus!”

Claire Novak skipped down the steps, taking them two at a time, and scooped up her backpack by the front door. “Thanks, Uncle Cas.” 

“You’re welcome. Have a great--”

The door slammed behind Claire, leaving Castiel to finish the sentence to himself.

“Day,” he said quietly in the sudden silence, and sighed. He shouldn’t be surprised. It was routine at this point. Not a routine he enjoyed, by any means, but a routine nonetheless.

He studied the worn wood floorboards under his feet, toeing aside the corner of the foyer rug that he knew hid markings and scratches left by the house’s former owners. The floors were one of the reasons he’d gotten a great deal on the duplex - they desperately needed to be redone, but Castiel wasn’t in a hurry. Area rugs were wonderfully efficient at hiding a century of wear and tear.

They also served as a remarkably effective focal point for distraction.

This was what the child services people had said, wasn’t it? That it would be difficult at first, that it would take them both time to adjust, but eventually they’d get to know each other and settle into a routine? And they were exactly right. This was a routine.

But it felt empty, like they were two strangers stitched together with hasty hitches and crooked lines; a family patchwork quilt that was anything but square, and far from complete.

_ Don’t beat yourself up, Cassie. You’re doing the best you can. _

Sure. But it wasn’t enough, wasn’t  _ nearly  _ enough to honor his brother’s memory, no matter how much Gabe tried to convince him otherwise.

He had to go to work.

Cas turned on his heel and went up the stairs to his own bedroom, where his white button-down, navy blue blazer and white-and-blue striped tie were laid out on his bed. Dressing himself the way he always dressed himself allowed him to slip into character, in a way. He’d been getting up and getting dressed like this for 5 years, and when he looked in the mirror, he could almost imagine things were back to the way they used to be before… everything. 

But the sag in his shoulders and the bags under his eyes betrayed that fantasy in an instant.

He heaved a sigh and turned sharply away from the mirror, out of the bedroom, marched down the stairs, and picked up his messenger bag before heading out the front door in long strides, barely pausing long enough to lock the door behind him.

The October chill hit him in a gust of wind as he strode to his car, a green ‘98 Chevy Cavalier that he’d bought used ten years ago, but that still ran like clockwork and so he didn’t see the advantage to buying anything new, despite how often his friends teased him about it.

It got him to the church and back every day and let him run his errands and pick up Claire from a friend’s house at midnight when she stayed out past curfew (again), and that was good enough for him.

Today as always, he barely registered the five-minute commute to work. He pulled into the church parking lot, snatched his messenger bag off the passenger seat, and used the same long strides to cut quickly through the cloudy bluster, up the stone front steps and into the peace of St. Peter’s Church. He felt the warmth come around him like a blanket and let the weight of the morning fall off his shoulders.

His steps to his office in the church basement were measurably more relaxed, and by the time the church secretary came by for her predictable 8 a.m. greeting, he could even manage a real smile. “Good morning, Mr. Novak.”

“Good morning, Hannah.”

“How are things?”

“Good. They’re… good.”

Hannah smiled softly and looked down at the coffee mug she cupped in both her hands at chin level. Took a careful sip. “And Claire?”

“She’s good, too. Everything’s… good.”

“Good. Well then. Deacon Gabriel is looking for you. He asked if you’ve had a chance to review his notes for this Sunday’s readings.”

He had, in fact, managed to weed through the sophomoric deacon’s jokes and penis doodles to decode that he was interested in seeking out female readers in observance of St. Teresa’s memorial. “Yes, I’ll follow up with him. Thank you, Hannah.”

She nodded, and pivoted as if to leave, so Cas returned his attention to his desktop and booting up his computer for the day. But Hannah hesitated in the doorway.  “You also had a missed call from one of Claire’s teachers,” she said hesitantly, and it drew Cas’ attention back to her. She tilted her head once their eyes met, and squinted in mild confusion. “A Mr. Winchester? Health… Sciences…?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yes.” It could only be about one thing.

“Called about ten minutes ago; I put him in your voicemail. Castiel, I don’t understand why you don’t just enroll her at Our Lady. With your position here, she’d get free tuition, and I’m sure her grades would…”

An audible sigh and Castiel burying his face in his hands was enough to quiet her, but he excused through the slats of his fingers, “Her caseworker advised not to thrust too much change upon her all at once. That I should leave her in public school because it allows her a sense of normalcy and familiarity. Friends. Other things.”

“Or maybe it’s just helping her live in the past. Our Lady of Peace could give her a fresh start. Maybe you, too.”

He really, really did not want to be having this conversation. “Thank you, Hannah.”

She hesitated just a second longer, rocking on her right heel in the doorway as she sipped her coffee again. “Take care, Castiel.”

He only looked up when the retreating click of her heels was quiet enough to be sure she was out of earshot.

Then he picked up his phone and dialed into voicemail, to see what deep wisdom the esteemed Mr. Dean Winchester From Health Sciences had to share with him.


	3. Claire

_ Pretty sure he’s gay. _

The text, which Claire covertly peeked at with the screen of her phone shaded by her left palm, caused her to snort-laugh before hammering out a reply.

_ Agreed - his ass screams BOTTOM. You see how bowlegged he walks? Shame _ .

“So as I was saying, while having an active social life is certainly an important part of a person’s health and wellness, it’s extremely important to learn how to manage your time and relationships and to choose social environments that allow you to make mentally, physically and emotionally healthy choices in life. So if, for example, your friend is texting you in the middle of class--” Without warning, Claire’s phone disappeared from her hands. Her head snapped up to follow it and she found the stern green eyes of Mr. Winchester staring down at her, judge and jury of her crime. He raised his eyebrows pointedly at her before lifting his head and holding up her phone as a visual aid to the rest of the class. “You might want to consider making some new ones. Because the ones who incite you to break the small rules are the same ones who are going to have you skipping class and smoking behind the tennis courts by the end of the year. Isn’t that right, Ms. Novak?” 

“I…”

“In fact I’m  _ sure  _ that since you and Ms. Jones are having this conversation in the middle of my lesson about social health, you wouldn’t mind if I used your conversation as a discussion aid. Would you like to read the conversation aloud for the class, or should I?”

Claire broke eye contact, turning her eyes to the front of the room and sinking into her seat as she blushed a shade of red she wasn’t aware she was capable of turning. Her cheeks, ears and face were on fire; she was certain that if he kept staring down at her, eventually she’d just combust. And then Mr. Winchester crouched down in front of her. “Or,” he said, leveling his gaze and softening a bit, “I could just hold both your phones until the end of class, and we’ll call it even.”

She nodded sheepishly, and his face softened further as she handed over the device. He left without another word to collect Alex’s phone before beginning a slow pace back to the front of the classroom. “Can anyone give me an example of a way to maintain good social health?”

Claire’s only mental response was  _ roll over and die _ , but she was pretty sure that wasn’t the answer Mr. Winchester was looking for. Instead she stayed silent, only half-registering what the geezer said through the remainder of the class. When the bell rang, she heaved a sigh of relief and slid her books off the desk, clutching them to her chest as she approached Old Man Winchester’s desk.

From the sound of her footfalls, Alex was close at her back, but Claire didn’t turn around to look.

“So,” Winchester greeted them when everyone else had left and the classroom was eerily silent, “You two think I’m attractive, but off the market, because I’m only into dudes. And that judging from my stance and swagger, I probably had anal sex last night. That about cover it?”

Well, this was a new level of horror. Claire stuttered on a response as Winchester stared up at them with a shit-eating grin from behind his stupid metal desk. She couldn’t say for certain what her face looked like, let alone Alex’s (because try as she might, she couldn’t take her eyes off Winchester), but he looked positively pleased by their responses.

He let the silence drag on for forever before finally picking up the conversation, content to accept their lack of response as a response in itself. “You’re partially right. Bisexual, actually. I swing both ways. Hit for both teams. Et cetera. It’s no secret around here, and I like to think it makes me better at my job, specifically  _ this  _ job, where I teach you about your brains and your bodies and how we all have the same basic plumbing, so it’s not so much about that as it is about where the hookups are and how they’re wired.” The guy seemed to be lost in his own half-baked analogy, so Claire relaxed a bit and chanced a glance at Alex, only to find her staring back, a look of utter confusion on her face. “Right! So, Hi. Mr. Dean Winchester, flaming bisexual. I did not, however, engage in intercourse last night, anal or otherwise, and yes, Ms. Jones, I did just use the word  _ intercourse _ .” Their heads snapped back to the man sitting behind his stupid desk. He now held their phones in his hands - one in each palm. “Get used to it. Get used to it and other words like  _ penis  _ and  _ vulva  _ and  _ scrotum _ , because that’s what those parts are  _ called _ , no matter what else you choose to call them in your free time. I’m hoping that by the time you leave my classroom, you’ll know more than just their street names, you’ll know their real names, and be able to talk about them without laughing or turning red in the face.” He stopped, paused, and turned his head to direct his attention solely at Claire. “Ms. Novak, please forget this conversation ever happened.”

That was enough to startle Claire out of her stupor. “What? Why?”

“Because.” Mr. Winchester’s face turned uncharacteristically somber - jaw set, eyes overcast, as he picked up a pen that he didn’t really need to be holding and tapped it hard against his desk. “Your uncle has excused you from next week’s unit.”


	4. Castiel

He didn’t call Mr. Winchester back.

He didn’t because he didn’t see the need. The teacher’s message was that he was just “checking in” to see if Castiel would “maybe want to reconsider” allowing Claire to remain in his classroom for the Human Sexuality unit next week; that Claire may have questions about her own developing body that Castiel would be uncomfortable answering that maybe her female classmates could help with. And he’d left a callback number, which Castiel had written down… Why had he written it down?

Anyway, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to use it.

And he didn’t.

But as he was hunched over scripture with Gabriel, editing and checking references for Father Michael’s sermon for the upcoming Sunday’s service, and Claire barged into his office and slammed her heavy backpack down on his desk and growled,  _ “What the hell did you do?!” _ ...He wondered if maybe he should have.

Both men looked up, and Claire trained dagger eyes on Castiel, refusing to even acknowledge Gabriel’s presence. “Language,” Castiel warned, but she looked so angry, he said it mostly as a cursory acknowledgment and request for calm; there was no actual threat behind it.

“Fuck language!”

_ “Young lady!” _ At that he did raise his voice and stand abruptly. “You will not blaspheme in the house of the Lord!”

“I think that’s my cue.” A heavy hand patted Castiel’s left shoulder, and Cas broke eye contact with Claire to turn pleading eyes on Gabe. “You got this, brother. I’ll finish the edits and get them to Michael yet tonight.”

“Thank you, Deacon.”

“Hey, no big, Cassie. Not like anybody’s waiting for me at home.” He slid out hastily, closing the door behind him like a jailer.

“You’re pulling me out of sex ed?!”

Oh. Yeah. That. “Yes.”

_ “Why?!” _

“Because I don’t want you learning information from some second-rate degenerate that will only result in promiscuous behavior. Any other questions?”

“What-- that is so--” Claire let out a frustrated closed-mouthed scream and turned around as she raked angry fingers through her long blonde hair. “And my teacher called you about it? My fucking  _ teacher _ ?”

“You use that word one more time young lady and I swear--”

“Oh, you swear?” Her attitude turned sickeningly saccharin on a dime. “Do you, Uncle Cas?”

He dropped his shoulders, relaxed his jaw. Sighed and tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and forced. “Yes, Mr. Winchester called me. He left a voicemail this morning before I got in, but I haven’t called him back.”

“So you didn’t actually talk to him, then?” She seemed to relax a bit, too. Now she just looked… uncomfortable, like she hadn’t quite expected the discussion to go this route, exactly.

“No.”

“Oh.” She looked away and became very interested in studying her cuticles. Cas sighed and sat back down in his chair, trying to relax.  _ Patience, Castiel _ . That’s what everyone told him.  _ Raising kids… especially at this age… at any age, really. It’s about patience.  _ “Are you going to?”

“I hadn’t planned on it, no. Unless you think there’s a reason that I should.”

“I… feel like I should be allowed to take the class.”

“OK.” Because everyone also said not to make Claire feel like she had no control over her own life, so he was willing to have this discussion, even to a predictable end. “Why?”

“Because I… OK, look. Point blank, Uncle Cas? No bullshit?” He hiked an eyebrow in warning, but nodded. “The Internet is a thing. You know that, right?”

“I’m well aware, yes.”

She waited for him to get it. But he didn’t, and eventually she threw her hands up, exasperated. She grumbled something to the ceiling that sounded vaguely like another blasphemy, and then said, “Because I already know everything you don’t want me to know, all right? I’ve seen dudes naked. I’ve seen dicks. I’ve seen it all, OK? And you can’t stop that. You might think you can, but you can’t. So I figure, if Mr. Winchester’s gonna hand out the knowledge about how it’s supposed to be, and he uses scientific mumbo-jumbo and words like intercourse instead of, you know,  _ fucking _ \-- it’s an example, don’t go off on me, I’m trying to make a point.” She paused for breath and licked her lips. “Then maybe I might go out into the dating world with some actual knowledge that’ll keep me safe instead of, you know. What I learn from Internet porn.” Case made, she sagged back against the wall, but Cas knew he was beat. He hadn’t expected in a million years that this discussion would go down this way.

“What if I talk to him?”

“To Mr. Winchester?”

“Yes. In person, during his office hours. I’ll pay him a visit, and we’ll go over the course material.”

She groaned. “That’s too embarrassing to even think about. If any of my friends see you come out of his office, I’ll die.”

“It’s my condition. I meet with your teacher, or my answer remains no and, since you were so kind to enlighten me about the dangers of the online world, I’ll lock up the wifi at home.”

“But that’s not--”

“Fair? Maybe not. But it’s the deal. Or no deal.”

“Fine.”

It didn’t sound like she thought it was fine, but Castiel didn’t really understand sarcasm. It didn’t matter. He nodded curtly. “Then we have an agreement. I’ll call Mr. Winchester now to schedule the appointment, and I’ll meet you at home.”

She rolled her eyes, huffed, and left the office without saying goodbye.

But she didn’t slam the door on her way out, so Castiel counted it as a win.


	5. Dean

The knock at his door came at 4:00 sharp on Thursday afternoon, and Dean looked up from a stack of papers he was grading to find--

Holy crap.

He’d had a vague recollection of having seen Castiel Novak with Claire at Welcome Day last month, the week before school started. And he was pretty sure he’d maybe seen him pick Claire up once or twice at the end of a school day. But he’d completely blocked - or perhaps not considered - the fact that the man was absolutely, positively, mouth-wateringly gorgeous.

He cleared his throat and blinked, hoping it didn’t look too much like he’d been staring, which--

In all fairness, he had been.

“Mr. Novak, I presume?” He went for casual, if a bit cocky, but stood and offered his hand for a proper shake since Castiel was, at the end of the day, a parent. Or a pseudo parent. In the five years since earning his teaching certificate, Dean hadn’t had much experience with legal guardians who weren’t technically the kids’ parents, and he wasn’t sure if he should handle this situation any differently than he--

“Castiel.” If his looks were heaven, his voice was the angel’s choir - deep, but quiet; instantly calming. It nearly brought Dean to his knees. “You must be Mr. Winchester.”

Dean registered that his outstretched hand was being shook, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Castiel’s face. “We’re both adults here, Castiel. Please, call me Dean.”

“Dean, then.”

“Right.”

“So.”

“So.” He sat down behind his desk and folded his hands over it, aware but not quite caring that he had a dumbass grin on his face.

Castiel cleared his throat, and it broke the spell he had on Dean - in the short term, anyway.

“Right! Castiel!”  _ Christ. Calm down, Winchester, or you’ll have no chance at all that this will go the way you want for Claire, let alone that the guy will ever consent to dating you.  _ He echoed Castiel’s throat-clearing with one of his own and picked picked up the binder he had prepared for next week’s Human Sexuality unit. “So. I understand you have concerns about allowing Claire to stay in the classroom during the unit on Human Sexuality next week.”

“Yes. She’s only 12 years old, to begin with, and I’m not sure that allowing children at this age to have all the facts about the inner workings of their reproductive systems is a good idea. That’s completely besides the fact that I’m giving a lot of thought to removing Claire from public school entirely, before it jades her much more than it already has.”

Dean was pretty sure his jaw hit the floor somewhere in the middle of Castiel’s monologue.

“My brother used to say the only reason to let your mouth hang open like that is if you’re trying to catch flies.”

Dean snapped his jaw shut on instinct, and cleared his throat again. He opened his mouth with the intention of speaking, but when no words came out, he closed it again. Somewhere in the fog in his brain (where he was trying  _ desperately  _ not to fantasize about the man across the desk from him) a quiet voice of reason suggested he change tactics. “Your brother. Claire’s father?”

“Yes.” The answer, though short and formal, came with a sad smile. “Jimmy. We were twins -- identical, actually. We were rarely apart, so it’s not like I was a stranger to Claire when I took her on. It was just-- sudden. When I got the call that Jimmy and Amelia had both died in that collision I…” Castiel tore his eyes away from Dean’s then. “Thing is, we were close, but we were so different, he and I. He was the one who dated the prom queen, married, bought a house, had a kid…”

“And you didn’t,” Dean supplied.  _ But why? You’re gorgeous, smart, even funny - maybe a little dry, but hey. Any woman would be lucky to have you. I can sense that, and I’ve only just met you. _

Oblivious to Dean’s inner voice, Castiel just nodded. “So I’m just doing the best I can with what little knowledge I have.”

“I think you’re doing a great job. Claire seems…”

“She cursed at me three times yesterday.”

Dean couldn’t help a laugh, and if maybe he threw in a pair of sparkly eyes and a slight tilt of his head, who could blame him? “Claire seems like she’s 12 years old, charging headlong toward 13. Which she is. Congratulations, Castiel Novak. Your charge is as normal as they come.” Castiel joined him in a soft laugh, and it warmed Dean in a place he didn’t really need to be warm right now. “I, uh. I made you a binder.” He gestured stupidly with his left hand and scrambled his fingers to grasp it. It took him two tries to master the move. “It’s-- I basically just made a copy of the unit outline and notes I use to teach, but this one’s yours to keep. This way, you’ll know exactly what my lesson plan is every day. You’ll know exactly what Claire is learning, and if you read ahead and have questions or comments, I’ll gladly meet with you again.”  _ Like over dinner, and maybe with a glass of wine… or on my couch? In my apartment? _

“That’s… very kind of you, Mr. Winchester. I really appreciate… this is quite helpful.” Castiel began to page through the binder, and Dean, not quite sure what to do with himself in the silence, started rubbing his palms together nervously in his lap. He’d met with parents on this subject before, and he’d always had no trouble discussing it with them in a completely professional manner.

But then, those parents were generally snobbish, occasionally rude, and definitely not his type.

Castiel was beautiful, smart, and polite but direct. He was Dean’s type to a fucking T.

Except for that whole… “working for a church” thing. Dean hadn’t been in a church since he was Claire’s age, so he couldn’t be absolutely certain, but it was quite possible that he’d be smote on the spot the second he set foot inside a house of God.

But he was willing to overlook that for now.

“I must admit, Mr. Winchester, this is far more scientifically instructional than I imagined.” Dean said nothing, but he did stop fidgeting in his lap. “Do you mind if I take this with me to look through more thoroughly before I give you my final decision?”

“Uh, no. No! Not at all. I mean. Absolutely, do take it with you. Take as much time as you need.”

“I don’t really have that much time though, do I? You do still intend to start this unit on Monday, correct?” And he raised his eyebrows. Dean chanced a look into Castiel’s face and happened to get stuck on his eyes, which somehow were even more blue than he’d thought they were when the man had first entered the room. 

“You got me there.” He offered a goofy, apologetic smile. “Although, if you need the weekend, I…” On an impulse, he dug into the front-right drawer of his desk and pulled out a business card. He hardly ever used the damn things, since most of his correspondence was done by e-mail and everyone who wasn’t an idiot knew where the middle school was, but he made an exception for Castiel. He flipped the card over and scrawled his cell phone number on the backside before handing the card across the desk with slightly shaky fingers. “That’s my cell.” He maybe didn’t need to say that. “You, uh. On Saturday and Sunday, I’m not here.”

“Right, I figured that.” He chanced looking up again, and goddamn, that smile was big and bemused and carried just a hint of sass. Dean had to sit back down before he fucking  _ fell  _ in every sense of the word.

“Right, of course. So you can call that number if you, uh. You know. Want to chat. About Claire,” he added a little too quickly, “And the, uh. Unit.” Fuck. Was it hot in here all of a sudden? Because Dean felt like he’d stepped into a sauna. “You know. The Health. Science. Unit.”

“I’ll do that, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean.”

“Right. Dean.” Castiel stood and as he stood, Dean noticed he was dressed like he’d come straight from the office (and in all fairness, he probably had): navy blazer, navy pants, white button-down, striped tie, all covered with a tan trenchcoat that didn’t seem to fit Castiel all that well, but sort of increased Dean’s attraction to him in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thank you, Dean. This has been very helpful.  _ You  _ have been… very… helpful.”

“You too.”  _ You too? _ It was out before he could stop it, and he cursed his own stupid brain and his stupid tongue not having a stupid connection.

But Castiel just smiled again - a little sheepishly this time, Dean thought, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. “Goodnight, Dean.”

He only trusted himself to wave this time. And it was a lame-ass wave. No way this guy was ever going to date him, no way. He’d be lucky if he managed to accomplish his primary goal of educating a student, but there was no way he was getting anywhere near Castiel Novak’s… anything.

When the door closed behind Castiel and Dean was alone, he let out a long breath and laid his head down on his desk.

_ Way to go, Winchester. Way. To. Go. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Dean's reaction when he met Aaron Bass and he thought the guy was hitting on him? "He was my gay thing"? Yeah. That's the Dean showing up in this chapter. :)


	6. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not now, nor have I ever been, Catholic. I was raised Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Synod (tl;dr, super-conservative Christian) but everything I know about going to confession, I learned from the Internet. It's entirely possible I got something wrong, in which case, I won't take it personally if you know better and offer a correction. Cas goes to Confession at least once more in the course of the rest of the story; I'd rather get it right so that I can make corrections if needed in future chapters.

As soon as Mr. Winchest--  _ Dean’s _ classroom door was closed behind him, Castiel sagged heavily against the wall and closed his eyes, drawing a series of deep breaths to try to slow his heart rate.

This hadn’t happened in years. Decades, even. But it was sure as heck happening now.

He was attracted to a man.  _ That  _ man, to be more specific - Dean Winchester, his niece’s teacher, the man who had just given him a binder full of a lesson plan so that he could feel secure about Claire learning about sex in a public school setting.

He allowed a moment for that to really settle into his mind, and when it did, his eyes snapped open and he bolted from the building.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. If he stopped to think about it any longer than he already had, he was going to throw up.

He found his way to the church instinctively, although he wasn't completely sure why he’d come here until he got out of his car and walked up the stone steps.

The hall to his office was dark; really the only lights on in the vicinity was a soft, comforting glow coming from the inner sanctum.

He let the comfort draw him there, and his feet carried him to the confessional. He knelt. Crossed himself. Waited.

Yes, of course. This was why he had come.

His ears registered the sound of the partition window sliding open, and he began to speak from rote and memorized ritual.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been…” he hesitated. It had been quite some time. “Three months since my last confession.”

“Bless you, my child. And what has brought you back into confession today?” Father Michael's gentle murmur was comforting just in itself. 

Cas cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “I’ve had impure thoughts about another… about a man.”

“I see.” A pause. “It’s been some time since I heard this particular confession from you, my son. Have you hid your sins? Or have they not been present?”

“No, Father. I’ve not felt this… urge… in many years.”

“And a particular gentleman has caused it to reawaken?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Have you acted on your urges?”

“No, Father.”  _ I’ve only just met him and come straight from his office. I haven’t had enough time to do… anything _ .

Silence from the other side of the confessional, and Castiel waited. As the silence stretched on, he reached into his pocket and worried Dean’s business card between his right thumb and forefinger.

“Two Our Fathers and pray the rosary three times. This will be your penance. But Castiel?”

The use of his name startled Cas back to the present. “Yes Father?”

“I know that you are aware that His Holiness Pope Francis has instructed the Catholic Church to accept homosexuals into our flocks. Your… transgressions… however tender they may be in the eyes of some parishioners… are no greater than the sins of your brothers and sisters in Christ. In your very particular case, I might even suggest that the best way to cast off this transgression is to follow the path to where it naturally leads.”

“I…”

“You’re waiting for me to tell you not to see him again, not to call him, and I’ll not do that. If you were in my confessional, admitting that you were considering murder or robbery or some other such thing which would cause direct harm to another human being, certainly I would ask you to abstain from those activities. Your sinful thoughts, your carnal desires… they affect only you, and perhaps one other. And keeping them inside, in my humble and honest opinion, may do you more harm than good.” Castiel fumbled for words, but found none. “Go now in peace, child. Your sins have been washed away in the blood of Christ.”

He crossed himself and stood.

As he exited the Church, he felt no more at peace than he had when he’d entered. And the fingers of his right hand still fidgeted on Dean Winchester’s business card.


	7. Claire

Claire had been watching her uncle for a solid five minutes, and he hadn’t even looked up enough to notice she was in the room. He’d been bent over the stupid gray binder from stupid Mr. Bisexual Winchester since they finished dinner.

At first, she’d watched with a cocked eyebrow for just a few seconds before saying something about homework and leaving him alone on the couch.

But that was two hours ago.

She’d finished -- OK, she’d  _ mostly  _ finished -- taking notes on Sherman’s march to the sea for history class and spent 15 minutes texting Alex about their new hatred for stupid Mr. Bisexual Winchester, including how they were probably going to call him that in person next time they saw him (OK probably not, but it was fun to dream.)

Then she’d emerged from her room, and there was Uncle Cas, still stretched out across his boring beige couch, still wearing his dress shirt and tie and the black dress shoes with the worn toes. His feet were crossed at the ankle, and he looked so engrossed in his reading about Human Sexuality and Reproduction that Claire would find it vaguely creepy if it wasn’t her dopey uncle who’d probably never seen a pussy in his life, let alone screwed one.

She looked at the clock, and then back at her uncle. He was angled away from her, and she could see the back of his head and his profile. Another few steps into the living room and she could see what he was reading, because Claire was pretty sure he hadn’t turned a page the entire time she’d been watching him.

_ Oh my God _ .

He wasn’t focused on anything that had anything to do with a woman’s sexuality or reproductive system or anything like that at all.

The page open in his lap, the one he was moving his finger over as he read, so that there was no mistaking where his focus was directed, was about his  _ own _ stuff. He was reading about the inner workings of cocks and balls and guys’ arousal and sure as shit, Claire could see a highlighted paragraph that started with the bolded word  _ prostate _ .

She stumbled backward, intent on creeping back up the stairs, but in her haste she made enough noise to finally draw her uncle out of his… reading.

“Homework done?”

She nodded, busted, and walked back into the room as he closed the binder, but she noticed he used his thumb to mark his place. “What about you, Poindexter?”

He huffed a laugh. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Not really.” She shrugged, trying to play it cool; settled into the armchair adjacent to the couch and curled her legs up as she studied him. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Huh?”

“You’re no dummy, Uncle Cas. I figure you’ve got to be through that binder by now, so… what’s the call? Can I stay in the room? Learn about sex from a bisexual nerd?” It slipped out casually, almost by accident, but Claire noticed immediately that her uncle’s eyes widened at the magic word  _ bisexual _ . She choked back a snort but couldn’t hide the smile; Castiel looked absolutely, positively like she’d just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. And that was silly, because she didn’t even have all the puzzle pieces yet… although the picture was starting to become clear.

She kept that to herself for now.

“Yes. Yes, I… Mr. Winchester was very…” In his pause, she let one snort-laugh escape, and his brow creased in confusion. She didn’t miss the way his right hand fiddled with the binder in his lap, while the index finger of his left curled with the rest of those fingers but firmly held his place. “Why do you know that about him?”

“Know what?” Hell, now it was just fun.

“His sexual orientation.”

_ Because he told us _ . But that was a road Claire had no interest in exploring. Instead she shrugged. “Everyone knows, Uncle Cas. It’s no big deal. He’s cool as fuck.”

_ “Language.” _

She just smiled knowingly and raised her eyebrows. “So, yes?”

“Yes what? I have no idea if Dea-- if Mr. Winchester is bisexual, Claire. I can neither confirm nor deny this rumor that  _ everyone knows _ .”

“About the  _ class _ ,” she stressed, unfolding her legs and leaning forward and, yep, her uncle was blushing, and pretty furiously at that.

“Yes, fine. I’ll call him tomorrow and retract my note. Fine.”

Satisfied, Claire nodded, stood, and sauntered toward the stairs. “G’night, Uncle Cas.” A pause at the bottom of the stairs, and then she looked back over her shoulder to catch him watching her departure. She grinned and slipped in a, “Happy reading,” before casually heading upstairs to her room.

The door was closed and she’d let out a 30-second stream of giggles before she had the wits to grab her phone and pull up Alex’s number in a text.  _ OMG. _

It took a minute before the message pinged back:  _ What OMG? _

Claire smirked at her phone and slipped in a few emojis.  _ My uncle’s got it bad for somebody. _

_ Good. Maybe if she fucks him good enough, it’ll shake him loose and he’ll stop being such a dweeb. _

_ Close but no cigar. _

There was a longer pause, a solid two minutes, and then: _ WTF? Spell it out, Novak _ .

_ IDEFK but he’s into dudes I guess??? And he’s crushing like WOAH. _

_ Good for him, I guess. Same shit, different hole, tho. _

_ Would be the same shit if it wasn’t Mr. Bisexual Winchester’s hole he’s interested in. _ Claire tossed her phone on the bed in classic mic-drop fashion and started getting ready for bed.

In the dark, as always, she had trouble falling asleep, but tonight there were no nightmares, no angsty dreams about her parents; just a warm, hopeful feeling and the promise of her uncle’s smile, which looked enough like her father’s to make her happy.


	8. Dean

Dean had been hoping for a call from Castiel Novak on Friday. And he got it. On his cell, which was a slight surprise, but not unwelcome. Over lunch, which-- same. He finished chewing a bite of a mediocre chicken salad sandwich, instinctively checked his breath (what the fuck?) and cocked his head to don a flirty smile before pressing the “accept call” button. “This is Dean Winchester’s phone. Dean Winchester speaking. How may I be of service?”

The way Castiel cleared his throat and fumbled for a reply said maybe Dean overplayed his hand. The smile slid off his face and he started to bounce his foot restlessly. “Um. Hi. This is… this is Castiel Novak. Claire Novak’s… uncle. Guardian.”

“Yes, yes. Hello. Castiel.” Dean softened a bit, feeling a tug at his heart strings for the guy. From his interactions with both Claire and Castiel, it was clear they were both doing the best they could in an unfortunate situation. He tried to lighten the conversation and move it along with a, “How’s the Catholic Church business?”

When Castiel again fumbled for words, Dean shook his head at himself-- and at the other man, wondering if he was just a terrible flirt, or if maybe Castiel had absolutely no interest in being chummy let alone… more than chummy.

“Just fine, Dean. I’m calling to… rescind my request that Claire be removed from your classroom during next week’s unit.”

Well. Mission accomplished on that front at least. “Glad to hear it, Cas…” he wants to shorten the name on instinct, but thinks better of it. This is a parent. A teacher should never assign nicknames to kids, let alone their parents. “...tiel. I take it you had a chance to review the course material last night?”

“I did. It was very… informative.”

“Oh really?” Eyebrows up, ears on, and the urge to flirt was again flitting around the edges of his brain, waiting for a good opportunity to weasel back into the conversation. “So you found it age appropriate? Not too… pornographic? Not too provocative? Not structured by the liberal government to get teenagers banging each other in the back seats of their parents’ Chevies?”

“What? No, no. Definitely, um.” Castiel cleared his throat, but followed the action up with a chuckle that eased Dean’s nerves. “Very educational.”

“For the kids. Your niece.”

“Yes. Right. For Claire.”  _ Right _ . Dean let a pause stretch between them before daring, “Did  _ you  _ learn anything? Have any… questions?”  _ That you might want to talk about in person? Over coffee? Dinner? More? _

But it was purely a pipe dream, and so it completely threw Dean off his game when Castiel returned, “I might. But I’d be more comfortable discussing them with you in person. It’s… delicate material, after all.”

“That it is.” He was too busy choking on his own excitement to notice that Castiel’s voice had gone a little soft. “Um. So. Probably best to meet before I start the unit next week. You know, if your… questions are about the, um.” He coughed for no reason other than to make himself stop talking. He barely squeaked out, “Coffee?”

“I drink coffee, yes. I’m Catholic, after all.” Dean couldn’t be certain, but he was pretty sure he heard a smirk in the other man’s voice. The humor was definitely dry, but it became him, Dean thought. “I could meet you tomorrow morning, if you’re free.”

“Yes! I mean. Yeah, yes, absolutely. Say 10AM? Starbucks on South Main?”

“Sounds good. I… Thank you, Dean. For your patience and understanding. This… guardianship… isn’t easy. Sometimes I’m not sure I’m succeeding at it very well.”

The admission wass broken and awkward, but hushed, and it touched Dean inside. “Well,” he said, letting a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, “I’m not a parent myself, but you sound like just about everyone I’ve ever talked to about their kid.”

“That so?”

“Scout’s honor.” At the scoff in his ear, Dean blushed crimson and laughed back. “Hey, don’t laugh! I was an Eagle Scout. Order of the Arrow.”

“Fine, fine, Scoutmaster Winchester. So… coffee?”

“Tomorrow morning, 10AM.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean ended the call and turned back to his sandwich.

The chicken salad tasted better with a smile on his face.


	9. Castiel

“Where are  _ you  _ going in such a hurry on a rainy Saturday?” Claire’s inquiry sounded entirely too smug for Cas’ liking.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m meeting someone for coffee.”

“Oh?”  _ Entirely  _ too smug. Yeah, she knew something. “Really? Who?”

Castiel sighed and turned on his heel, trenchcoat slung over his right arm as he stood with his back pressed against the door. “Your teacher, Mr. Winchester. I had some follow-up questions about the Human Sexuality unit, and since it starts Monday, he agreed to meet me this morning. Don’t make that face at me.” She was definitely making a face that looked like someone trying very, very hard not to laugh.

“Uh huh. Whatever you say. Hey, since you’re busy, you mind if I hit up a matinee with Alex?”

“Is your homework done?”

“It’s Saturday?”

He raised a brow and dropped his chin. “ _Is_ _your homework done_?”

The roll of her eyes was as good an answer as any, but then her shoulders sagged, and he felt genuinely… guilty. She had a point. He could loosen up just… just a little.

“Go to the movie,” he relented, and the way she lit up like a Christmas tree said he’d probably made the right choice. “But I want you home for dinner, and tonight you hit the books.”

“But it’s Saturday night.”

“Don’t push it.”

She didn’t. And she even hugged him before he left, so Cas ticked off a progress mark on the invisible Parenting Success Tracker in his brain as he shrugged into his coat and hurried through the rain to his car.

The Starbucks was nearly vacant, and he had no trouble spotting Dean at a table in the back, already cupping a Grande Something loosely in two palms.

Cas ordered and retrieved his own Grande Sumatra and a butter croissant before joining Dean, and the process allowed him a moment to get a good look at his companion.

He’d swapped out a button-down and tie for chequed flannel over an army green tee, and traded dress slacks for faded jeans. It suited him, Cas thought, even better than the professional get-up. But it wasn’t until he was approaching Dean and the man looked up to catch his eye that a traitorous part of Cas’ brain noticed how well the undershirt complemented Dean’s stunning green eyes. He came to a full stop about three feet from Dean’s table, and the other man just smiled and raised one eyebrow. “You gonna sit down?” Even his attitude was casual.

Cas could only nod and take his seat dumbly.

Dean sipped his coffee.

Cas sipped his coffee and caught Dean staring at him.

Cas set his coffee down.

Dean sipped his again, but maintained eye contact over the brim.

Then he set it down, kept it palmed in his right hand, and said, “So you had some questions about my unit.”

And Cas was pretty sure that in that moment, the color of his body was approximately that of a sunburnt crab. Dean, on the other hand, maintained serious eye contact for a solid five-count before collapsing into laughter at his own joke.

“It’s-- forget it.”

But Cas studied the man in front of him and, after a silent moment, he tilted his head and smiled softly. “I can’t decide,” he said casually as he drew up his right foot to cross it over his knee, “if you were going to explain that away as a joke… or a pickup line.”

Dean’s reaction was payback for Castiel’s momentary unease.

“Well.” The teacher nodded, mirrored Castiel’s posture, and sipped his coffee. If anything, the comeback seemed to relax him. “I guess we both know why we’re really here, then.”

“I think Claire knows, too.”

Dean’s chuckle was warm and soft; it wormed its way right into Castiel’s chest and started plucking at the heartstrings. “She’s a smart kid. Good kid. A little…”

“Reckless? Misguided? Struggling for a foothold?”

“It’s hardly her fault. Or yours,” Dean added quickly, switching the cross of his legs and sitting forward to lean his forearms on the table between them. “Neither of you asked for this. It just is… what it is.”

“And so we  _ make the most of an unfortunate situation _ ,” he quoted the social worker verbatim. “You’re… not the first to suggest that,” he offered with a sigh. “I don’t know. Some days are great. Some days are… some days I wonder what track my brother and his wife were on with her, to be totally honest, and I consider yanking her out of that school and sending her off to Our Lady of Peace. Let God educate her, put her back on the the path to righteousness.”

His companion quirked an eyebrow. “You think she’s fallen off it?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“You ever think maybe she’s just a 12-year-old girl who lost both her parents and is internalizing a whole lotta stuff she doesn’t know how to bring to you? You know, I also teach a unit on Emotional Health. First unit of the year, in fact, and what I got out of Claire in that discussion was… she’s carrying a lot of weight.”

Castiel digested the words even though they left a sour taste in his mouth and burned all the way down. “These things, they. Take time.”

“For her. And for you. In my professional opinion? You both need to cut yourselves some slack. Relax. Have a coffee with a cute boy.”

“Claire does not need to be having coffee with a cute boy.”

Dean smirked. Folded his hands in front of him. “What about you? Do  _ you  _ need to be having coffee with a cute boy?”

Cas felt reeled in, and he let out a sigh of surrender. “Apparently so.”

“So we can stop pretending you’re here to ask me questions about a 7th Grade course on human sexuality? Because I’d really rather you asked me about some other things.”

Castiel opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, and before he could stop the words, what tumbled out was, “Do you really think it’s necessary to teach boys that young that their prostate is an erogenous zone?” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the feeling of a full-body blush returned. “I’m--”

But Dean silenced him with a raised hand. “It’s a fair question. Yes, I think it’s fair, in the way that it’s covered, on Day 1, in discussion about the male anatomy, in the same way that I think it’s fair that on Day 2, when we talk about the female anatomy, I talk about the clitoris. What I find most interesting about your question is that you’re raising a biological female, as far as I’m aware. So let me ask you, Castiel: Do you wish someone had taught  _ you _ that  _ your _ prostate is an erogenous zone when you were 12? Or…” He paused, tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, and Castiel knew even before Dean spoke just exactly what he was going to ask. “Ever?” He couldn’t hold Dean’s gaze. His eyes dropped to his lap and he bit at his bottom lip. “I’m… sorry. That was a bit forward of me.”

“No. It’s, um. I was…” Castiel sighed before lifting his eyes. He knew how he looked: sheepish, even guilty. “Jimmy and I went to Catholic school from pre-K on up. We were… our parents held us to strict curfews, kept us to our studies. We graduated 1 and 2 in our class from high school and went on to… Jimmy went to Harvard.”

“But not you?”

“No, not… not me. I, um. My parents suggested that I go into the priesthood. To… make certain things… easier on me.”

“Certain things. Certain things like a biblical interest in men?” Cas could only nod. “But you didn’t do that either.”

“It didn’t suit me. I got my degree in theology and I’ve been the liturgist at St. Peter’s for the five years since I got my Master’s.”

Dean was looking at him - looking  _ into  _ him, it seemed. Studying him, sizing him up. It went on for long enough that Cas started to squirm in his seat as the heat rose in his cheeks again. Finally, Dean smiled softly, picked up his coffee, and took a thoughtful sip with the cup between both palms. He set it down and finally said, “It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“How we get to where we are, and why. We started talking about the prostate as a part of the male anatomy and suddenly you’re speaking volumes about how and why you got so far into the closet, and whether you know it or not, you told me a fair bit about why you’re so tough on Claire. And like I said before, I think you both need to cut yourselves a little slack. For Claire, maybe that means she takes sex ed and goes out for basketball. For you? Sounds like it’s finding out just what happens when you finger your prostate.”

Castiel opened his mouth, but he wasn’t sure exactly what he planned to say. He closed his mouth again and mouthed a couple of words, but before anything actually made its way out, Dean’s phone rang.

Dean cursed; fished the thing out of his back pocket and glanced at the screen. He tensed immediately, clenching his jaw before stabbing angrily at the screen to silence the ringer. “I’m… sorry.”

Cas shook his head and sipped his coffee, grateful for the reprieve. “You could have taken that.”

“He wishes. No, it’s…” Dean sighed and visibly softened, turning his smile back to Cas. “It’s over, he just won’t accept it. Not my problem. Castiel… Cas. Can I call you Cas? I’d like to call you Cas. And I… this has been… nice. In a way coffee hasn’t been nice in a long time.”

“It has.” He lifted his coffee cup, only to find it was empty. “I, uh. My coffee’s…”

“Here’s what I’m going to do, Cas. I’m going to make a reservation for dinner on Wednesday night at Eno Vino. 7:30, table for two. I’d very much like it if you would come and sit down across the table from me, drink some wine, eat some fantastic Italian food, and talk about something other than the 7th grade Health Class curriculum.”

“You’re asking me out on a date. I, uh.”

“It’s not a date. It’s dinner. Unless of course you want it to be a date, in which case, we’ll call it a date. But as far as this invitation is concerned, we’re two professionals, maybe friends, having dinner. That’s all.”

Cas’ head was spinning, and he knew he was blushing, and so he looked up sheepishly through his eyelashes and did his best to keep eye contact with those amazing emeralds as he confessed, “If it were a date, Dean. If… if  _ we were _ on a date. It would be my first with a man. You should know that.”

There was a pause, but Cas forced himself to maintain eye contact. He watched Dean’s face slide into a disarming smile and then, incredulously, watched Dean’s right hand venture across the table to reach for his own. “Well then, Cas. I would very, very much like for it to be a date.”


	10. Claire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy guys! Firstly, thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. You all are what keep me moving on this story (and others!) 
> 
> Second, I'm so sorry for the lack of regular updates. I'm trying to update weekly, but there have been a lot of life changes in the new year that mean I don't get a lot of downtime to do things like write and edit and post updates. Which really, really, really, REALLY sucks because I'm beyond excited to get this out to you all.
> 
> I'm still doing my best to update once a week, although if you've been paying attention you'll notice that's been moved from Thursdays to Mondays, and I can't promise it won't shift again. I really do appreciate you guys sticking it out and continuing to fill my inbox with happy squeees and love. 
> 
> Tags have been updated for future chapters... just so you know I'm still progressing this story, and this relationship, in some sort of orderly fashion. :)

Starting on Monday, Claire and Alex made a pact not to text in Mr. Winchester’s class.

Mostly because most of their texts were  _ about  _ Mr. Winchester.

And Claire’s uncle.

_ He’s so in love it’s not even funny. _

Mr. Lafitte was blathering on about the conjugation of the french verb  _ manger  _ which Claire understood meant “to eat” and that was enough to pass the quiz at the end of class, probably, so she’d sort of tuned him out.

_ I bet he wants to “mange” Mr. Winchester’s asshole. _

Claire snorted quietly, eyes immediately darting up to see if Mr. Lafitte was paying attention. He wasn’t. His back was turned, and he was pointing annoyingly at the marker board. She vaguely heard her classmates reciting the present conjugation of the verb, and mumbled along as she plunked out a response.

_ Dude. Gross. _

Mr. Lafitte passed out an exercise; Claire accepted the handout from over the head of the person in front of her. 

_ What? It’s a thing gay dudes do. _

_ How can that even be sanitary? Not to mention it’s my uncle. UGHHH _ .

_ Your uncle’s gay for your teacher. _

_ There are worse things _ .  _ Dude, guaranteed A in Health _ .

_ A is for “asshole.” _

_ SHUT. UP. _

She set her phone aside and completed the exercise. Verb conjugation wasn’t difficult; she really only needed one ear on her teacher. She handed it in just as Lafitte was shouting out the night’s homework assignment, and met up with Alex just outside the classroom door.

“Don’t even start.”

“I’m just saying. Most people I know would be super grossed out to find out their teacher was dating their dad. You seem to be handling it pretty OK.”

“Yeah, as long as you stop painting gross mental pictures.”

“I’m just saying--”

“ _ Don’t _ say!” Claire laughed as much as she groaned as she reached her locker and leaned her back against it. “It’s-- this is actually-- OK, think about it. For the first time in the four months I’ve been his  _ ward _ or whatever, Uncle Cas let me go to the movies with you on Saturday afternoon and  _ my homework wasn’t even done _ . And this is barely the beginning! They were just meeting for coffee!”

“Uh huh. You know sometimes when adults say coffee they actually mean… not coffee.”

Claire shook her head and turned back to her locker, popped it open, and started changing out her books to head to her English class. “Definitely just coffee. He came home smelling like that stupid Starbucks roast he drinks, and only his own cologne.”

“Cologne, though. For coffee.”

“Right?!” She slammed her locker, and together they navigated the long, straight hall down to Alex’s locker, where they’d eventually part to head to different classes. “But, no, think about it, I mean. You know there was no way Uncle Cas was going to let me go out for basketball before, and now…”

“He’s got the hots for the coach…”

Claire winked. “So I’ll see you at tryouts. The more he goes out, the more he comes out… the more freedom I get. It’s a win-win.”

“Until they break up.”

“Shut. Your face.”

“Or get married.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch. I’ll see you at lunch? Hey, Skip last period with me?”

“Done and done.” Claire waved and peeled off toward her history class. She was only sort of paying attention, which went a long way to explain why she didn’t see Mr. Winchester until it was too late and she’d already bumped headlong into his broad, solid chest. She looked up to find his green eyes looking down at her, eyebrows raised.

“You will not skip last period.”

“You’re not--”

“In charge of you? Like hell I’m not. Better than that, I’ve got your uncle’s cell and office numbers on speed dial, so it’s gonna be your ass in that seat at exactly 2:35 this afternoon, or it’s gonna be your ass riding the pine on my court all through tryouts. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” She rolled her eyes and pushed past him, huffing and slightly warm with the embarrassment of being overheard. But as she took her seat and opened her US History textbook, a thought occurred to her, and she smiled in spite of herself.

Mr. Bisexual Winchester sure did sound like a dad.


	11. Castiel

Cas dressed as calmly as he could, but his hands shook as he tied his tie, and it took him three times to get the knot right. He looked himself over in the mirror; smoothed both palms over his chest.

“Going somewhere?”

She startled him so much that he actually jumped before turning around, grasping for a bit of composure. “Yes. I’m…” He sighed. Glanced at his feet. “I have a date.”

“Anyone I know?”

The innocence card was getting old, and Cas decided it was time to give up the ghost for both their sakes. “His name is Dean. Winchester.”

And Claire absolutely lit up like a Christmas tree. “I knew it. I fucking kn--”

“Language.” But the admonishment came out with no force behind it. He sighed and shook his wrists, trying to settle into the burgundy dress shirt he really only ever wore for church.

“Sorry. But-- wait. Uncle Cas?”

“Yes?” More fidgeting.

“Nothing, just. You look… nice. Handsome, even.”

He stopped fidgeting and softened with a smile. “Thank you, Claire.”

“So… is now a good time to ask you if I can go out for basketball?”

He breathed a gentle sigh. Obviously Dean had known Claire had an interest. Obviously he supported said interest. And, well. Basketball -  _ girls’  _ basketball - wasn’t exactly coffee with a cute boy. She’d have an extracurricular for her resume, and if she continued to play and played well, she might even stumble into a college scholarship. “You’ll keep your grades at a B average or I’ll bench you.”

“I swear, Uncle Cas, I’ll turn in my homework on time, go to every class-- I think if I don’t, you won’t have to do anything. Mr. Winchester will bench me for you.”

“What’s he have to do with basketball?”

“You didn’t know?” She laughed as she turned to leave his room, then turned and winked over her shoulder. “In Health class it’s  _ Mr. Winchester _ . On the court, he goes by  _ Coach _ .”

She retreated to her own room, but their brief interaction made him feel a bit more at ease.  _ You look nice _ , she’d said.  _ Handsome, even _ . He faced the mirror one more time and touched his hair a few times absently before smiling at his reflection.  _ Handsome. I sure hope Dean thinks so _ .

The thought came without permission, and then the nervousness was shooting back through his chest like he’d been shot. “I can’t do this. I can’t.” He started to pace. On instinct, he grabbed his rosary from the drawer of his nightstand and sat down on his bed to pray, but it couldn’t hold his focus. “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. This is sinful and wrong and I--”

“Uncle Cas.” His head snapped up, and there was Claire again, leaning against his doorframe and giving him a sad smile. “Do me a favor, okay?”

He could only give her a questioning look; his throat was too dry to manage actual words.

“You gotta chill out. I don’t think I could deal with it if you went full gay panic over my teacher. So, you know. If you can’t pull it together for yourself, could you maybe do it for me?”

“Claire I--” He met her eyes and looked at her -  _ really  _ looked at her. She was older than she’d been last time he’d looked at her, he’d swear it. Taller, maybe, than she was yesterday, or something in her face that implied just a hint of maturity that hadn’t existed before this moment. She looked a lot more like her mother and, if Cas squinted, a little bit like Jimmy, too. He smiled. Sighed. “Thank you. I… really don’t know what I’d have done tonight without you.”

“Honestly? Probably prayed that rosary til your fingers bled, then hid under your blankets and stayed there for two days, missing out on a potentially really great night with a really, really cute guy.”

“I’m going to try to overlook the fact that we both think the same man is attractive.” But he was still smiling.

“Yeah, I think, uh. Me too. But I. Wait. Are we, like,  _ bonding  _ or something? Is this a  _ moment _ ? Because that’s gross.”

“I could hug you, if you think it would help.”

“Yeah, uh. No chick flick moments, Uncle Cas.” She slugged him in the arm, and he took that for what it was. And what it was… was better than a hug, really. “Go get ‘im, Tiger.”

“Tiger?” She shrugged, and he shook his head playfully. “Thank you, Claire.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go, old man, before you’re late and Dean thinks you stood him up.”

“ _ Mr. Winchester _ to you.”

“Whatever. Fine. Go!” She gave him a shove, and this time, he went: All the way out of his room, down the stairs, out the door, and to his car, carried along by butterflies in his stomach and bounce in his step.

He could do this.

He could not panic.

He could go on a date with a cute boy.

He could.


	12. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Two things, real quick: Firstly, as far as a writing/finishing update, I'm at 29 chapters completed, with probably another one or two, and optional epilogue, to go.
> 
> And secondly, re: this particular chapter, beware a bit of gay panic on Cas' part. It's not severe, but it's not the last time you'll see it, either. Cas has a lot of stuff to work through; please be patient with him. :)

If asked, Dean was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to recall any significant details about his dinner with Castiel --  _ Cas  _ \-- on Wednesday evening.

He knew he could describe the other man’s eyes, how very, very blue they were, with probably 15 adjectives before he had to reach for a thesaurus. He knew he’d be able to recount, with unerring accuracy, exactly how many times he made Cas smile (17) and laugh (at least 4.) He would remember that they carried an easy conversation about… a lot of things… and that they shared dessert. 

But he wouldn’t remember the color of the curtains or the name of the waitress or whether or not there were other people in the restaurant, because as far as he could remember, they were alone. He had no idea how long they lingered; only that when they finally stood up, he wanted desperately to keep the evening alive. And so he said, “Feel like a drink?”

And Castiel hesitated. “I, uh…”

“Oh, come on, Catholic Boy. Don’t tell me you keep yourself on a curfew, too. Live a little.”

Castiel ducked his head; a streetlight overhead accented the blush creeping into his cheeks, giving his face an angelic glow. When he looked up again, he had his bottom lip bitten between his teeth in a way that made Dean really, really want to lean in and kiss him. “You’re just chipping away at my innocence bit by bit tonight, aren’t you?”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” It came out breathy… with arousal? Dean chanced a step closer. Cas didn’t step away, and his eyes were shining with something like mischief or maybe a low tolerance for alcohol. They’d each had a glass of wine at dinner, which for Dean was a drop in the bucket, but maybe for someone like Cas, it was a bit more than that. He chanced another step, then another, and then he was right up in Castiel’s personal space, leaning in close, keeping eye contact, and they were breathing into the same space.

“Your pupils are blown out, Castiel,” he mumbled, placing a careful right hand on the other man’s left elbow. “You’re flushed and warm and your breath is coming faster than it was at dinner. In my line of work, these are classic signs that we’ve progressed beyond the fun and flirty behavior of desire… into… arousal.” He couldn’t not go for it. He leaned down, angling for a kiss, and then puffed out, “Can I kiss you?”

“You’re a gentleman.” Castiel was closing the small space between their faces; whether he knew he was doing it or not, Dean couldn’t say for certain.

“I teach consent, and I practice what I preach. Please?”

It was Castiel who ultimately took the final step. Probably emboldened by alcohol, but his lips were pillow-soft and full and had Dean closing his eyes for all of the three seconds that the kiss lasted.

“You teach,” Castiel mumbled between their faces when they parted. His eyes were still closed, but he opened them to add, “You teach my  _ niece _ . You’re Claire’s teacher. You’re a man, and Claire’s teacher, and I’ve just kissed you. I can’t--”

“Cas, listen--”

“Oh God…”

“Castiel.” He could see the panic rising in the man who was still so close and warm but tensing with every passing moment, and Dean had to do something,  _ anything _ , to keep him from completely freaking out.

So he kissed him again.

Where the first kiss was soft, hesitant, unsure, this one was confident,  _ passionate _ , and Dean cupped Cas’ chin to hold his face as he licked his tongue over a pair of tightly drawn lips. He didn’t really expect to be granted entry, so when he was, his own arousal soared. And he certainly didn’t miss the hesitant feel of Cas’ tongue sliding alongside his own.

Castiel shivered and audibly sobbed as they broke apart, and his head went down, eyes on the sidewalk cement. “I…”

“It was a nice kiss,” Dean offered, and then, boldly, he reached out to tilt Castiel’s chin up with his hand so he could stare again into those impossibly blue eyes. At their indecision, he smiled softly. “I’d like to do it again. A lot,” he admitted with a hint of a laugh. 

Cas didn’t answer right away. He was staring at Dean, clearly still processing his fight-or-flight response. When he did finally speak, his voice was hushed and gravely, like it had dropped an octave. “I don’t think having drinks with you right now is a good idea.”

Undeterred, Dean reached out and ran the pad of his thumb over Cas’ bottom lip. “Why not?”

“Because it might… lead to something… I’d later regret.”

“Fair. Very fair. Alcohol clouds judgment, after all.” But their lips met again, and this time Dean cupped Cas’ cheek gently in his palm. “I’d like to see you again, though. Saturday? And… not just for coffee?”

Was that a whimper? It sounded like a whimper, and Dean really wanted it to be a whimper. In any case, Cas followed it up by clearing his throat. “This time it would definitely be a date.”

“Oh, definitely. Maybe… my place? I’ll cook you dinner… movie and popcorn on my couch… What do you say, Castiel?”

There was a nod, and the satisfying scratch of stubble against his own. “I’d like that a lot.”

“I’ll text you my address.” He mumbled it into a kiss, and this one he held onto as long as he dared, until he felt the tingle of need shooting up his legs and pooling in his groin. Then he pulled away regretfully, and smiled, making sure to look into Cas’ eyes to see just how wrecked he was. “Goodnight, Castiel.”


	13. Castiel

“Cassie. You’re… late.”

“Good morning to you too, Gabriel.” They strode up the stairs and into the inner sanctum together, side by side, at a nearly equal pace. “And yes, I apologize for being tardy. This morning was… I’m sorry.”

Gabriel shook his head as they ventured toward their offices. “Hey, you’re not accountable to me, brother. It’s just unlike you, that’s all. You’re pretty-- always-- punctual. Could’ve set a watch by you… until today, anyway. Everything OK?”

“Far be it from me to assume perfection, Gabriel,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes. “As I’m not part of the Trinity, even I am bound to make mistakes every now and then. Excuse me.”

“Who is she?”

He’d brushed past, he was in the clear, but Gabe’s voice called out to his retreating back and made him freeze mid-step. “What?” He didn’t turn around.

“You look exhausted, like you were up half the night. And yet you somehow manage to have a light in your eyes like you’re the 4th of July personified. So you had a date last night, for which I applaud you. Now, I know you didn’t bring her home, because your clothes aren’t rumpled like you got dressed in a hurry, but your socks don’t match, and that says to me you were more than a little distracted when you got dressed. So who is she? Because whoever she is, she’s got you flustered in a way that only leads to good and wonderful things and I, for one, am thrilled for you.”

Cas drew a long, slow breath and waited to exhale until he was choking on the air that filled his lungs. Then he turned on his heel, about-face, and squared his shoulders to let his words out in a rush with his exhale, “It’s not a she.”

Gabe furrowed his brow. Took a step closer, and cocked his head. “Come again?”

“Not  _ she _ ,” Cas repeated, quieter and suddenly very interested in the marble floor at their feet. “He.”

There was a moment of still silence - probably no more than five seconds, but it seemed to stretch on forever - that Cas was sure would end with the loss of a friend.

But then there was the pressure of a hand on his shoulder, and a firm pat. “Good for you, Cassie.” And he looked up to find Gabe smiling at him softly. “Good for you. So, poker tomorrow night? My place?”

He heard himself mumble, “Sure…” and that was it. Gabe was gone, and Cas was standing there, late for work and coming off pretty much the best night ever, and he had plans for both Friday and Saturday night. And a friend. And a boy… boyfriend? Something?

Dean. He had Dean.

“Good morning, Mr. Novak.”

Hannah’s greeting startled him out of his reverie, and he turned sharply to paste her even as he plastered a smile to his face. “Good morning, Hannah.”

“Is everything OK with you? With Claire?”

He gave the question a moment of consideration before nodding, the warm feel of Gabe’s manly pat on the shoulder giving him strength. “Better… better than they’ve been in awhile, Hannah. Yes.”

Her brow furrowed as she studied his expression, probably trying to decipher it as Gabriel had, but without success. “I came by as usual, and you… were… late. I thought that maybe one of you was ill.”

“No, no. Thank you for your concern, though, sister. No… I’m just… late. I… hmmm.” His face tilted up, and he squinted, searching for a term. “I chose to do things a bit differently this morning.”

“Oh! Well… certainly.” But it seemed almost a foreign concept to her. “Any reason?”

He walked in the direction of his office, and she followed as he continued to speak. “I was out late last night, and I overslept. It’s more careless than my usual approach, I agree, and I’ll strive for it not to happen on a regular basis, but… Hannah, have you ever… Have you ever been in love?”

Her eyebrows raised in tandem at the question. “I’m married, Castiel.”

“Ah. So then you must know the feeling of… being a little out of sorts.”

“In love.”

“In general.”

“I… suppose.”

He nodded decisively. “There you go, then. So. Yes. I’m fine. I am  _ excellent _ . I am happy and wonderful and Claire is doing quite well, thank you. She has her first basketball practice tonight, in fact, and I think that will be good for her. Yes. It will be good…” he chuckled in spite of himself as a welcome heat rose in his cheeks. “It will be good for both of us. And you, Hannah? How are you this beautiful day?”

“It’s raining.”

“I suppose it is.” He hadn’t even noticed. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

She laughed at him then, sounding a bit lost in wonder at his… wonder. “Sure. Have a good day, Mr. Novak.”

“Thank you, Hannah. And you as well.”

She left, and as he went to retrieve his coffee, Cas whistled a little tune. It wasn’t anything he knew the name of, or anything he was making up, but he couldn’t get it out of his head.

He was well into his second hour of research on an upcoming sermon when he realized where he’d heard the song.

It had been playing in the restaurant the night before.

It was the song that was playing, in fact, when he first picked up his glass of wine, toasted Dean, and caught site of a spark in those emerald eyes. 


	14. Claire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, guess what???? It's DONE!!
> 
> 30 Chapters plus an epilogue. It's the longest thing I've written in quite awhile. And like most of my long-winded stuff, it isn't quite the story that I thought it would be when I started... but I'm pretty happy with it anyway, and I hope you guys will be too.
> 
> With the posting of this chapter, I'm also updating tags for the whole story. From here on in, I'll update more frequently and in larger chunks, so that you guys have the whole story within the next 2-3 weeks.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Claire slid into her seat in Mr. Bisexual Wincheter’s classroom on Friday just as the bell rang, and she pulled up a text from Alex while Winchester strode in and closed the door.

_ Are they fucking yet? _

She shook her head and hammered back a response as Winchester called out, “All right, OK, settle, settle…” and the buzz of the room began to ebb. 

_ WTF? No! Gross! They went on like one date. On a weeknight. _

_ Sometimes that’s all it takes. _

Claire rolled her eyes and pocketed her phone just as De-- Mr. Winchester began speaking.

“So. I’ve spent the last four days going on about your bodies, and your classmates’ bodies, and what you’ve got and what they’ve got and how those things work together biologically to do things like make babies and blow your minds. And I’d like to think we’ve maintained a more or less open dialogue. After all, if we can’t talk about it, we shouldn’t be doing it, right?” He chuckled at his own joke and shook his head, mumbling something like, “I’m gonna put that on a bumper sticker.  _ Anyway _ ,” he cleared his throat and returned his voice to its normal tenor. “Believe it or not, I’m not a complete ogre, and I do understand the need for confidentiality and discretion at times. I remember what it was like to have questions about all this and not feel incredibly comfortable asking about it in a room full of people who might tag my locker if I say something they think is stupid. So. Everyone please take out a piece of paper.” He paused, and Claire ripped out a sheet from the back of her notebook in tandem with everyone else in the room. “And if you would, pick up the pen or pencil of your choice and write down a question. Any question. Any question about anything you’d like to know. Don’t sign it, don’t identify yourself in any way. Just fold it in half two times and set it down on the corner of your desk. I’ll come around and pick them up once everyone is finished. Sound good? OK. Get to it.”

Claire looked down at the blank paper in front of her.

Gave genuine thought to the question, and then pressed her pen the paper and scribbled, folding up her paper just as Winchester strolled down her row. He picked up her paper just as the others, and she happened to look up and catch his eye as he did so.

He smiled warmly.

She winked.

She wasn’t sure what drove her to do it, and afterward she blushed at the idea that he might take it the wrong way, but then… He was back at his desk, shuffling the papers to randomize before selecting one to read aloud. And he chose one, looked across the class, and smiled softly at her.

It wasn’t a flirty smile; it wasn’t a friendly smile or even a teacher smile.

It was a parental smile.

And she loved and hated it equally, down through every single one of her bones.

“First question!” He flourished a single sheet of paper and cleared his throat dramatically as he began to pace the front of the room as he read. “Is it possible to get pregnant while having sex standing up? Yes. Yes it is, assuming the partners are biologically male and female, and while we’re at it, I will volunteer that it’s possible in any case to get a  _ sexually transmitted infection _ if you have sex while standing up. Yesterday we talked about the use of protection, all right, condoms. Dams. Gels. The packet I gave you from Planned Parenthood wasn’t just for show. Read it, figure out what it is you need, and go get it. Most cases, at your age, you’ll be able to get it for free from the PP. And ladies, don’t always assume your partner’s going to come packing. You think you might be rounding the bases, you carry a condom. No ifs, ands or buts.” He set the paper down and gave a pointed look around the room before picking up another one, giving it slightly less of a flourish to shake it out. “Next. What happens to sperm that goes up inside a girl but doesn’t make a baby? Does… it make her… really fat if she has lots of sex…?” She kept down a giggle at the deflated tone in his voice. He sighed.

Claire didn’t really listen to the answer to that question, and she tuned him out for a solid 20 minutes of his monologue. Occasionally it would be broken up by a question or giggle from one of her classmates and Winchester’s corresponding hushes. And then suddenly there was a pause - a lengthy pause, like her teacher was genuinely done talking, or had been stumped by a question, and she looked up.

Winchester’s eyes met hers over the heads of everyone in the three rows in front of her, and he raised his eyebrows, looked back at the paper in his hand, and read, “If a guy… likes another guy… would he bring him flowers or what? Well.” He chuckled, set the paper down, and paced across the floor with measured steps, eyes on his shoes and hands clasped behind his back. Her eyes followed him all the way to the right, where he leaned against the wall. “I did say ask about anything, didn’t I? So…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t like flowers,” he said, and Claire chanced a look to make sure she actually was feeling the weight of his eyes on her. “Some guys like flowers, sure. I don’t. Whether I’m having dinner with a male or a female companion… I’m not big on flowers, but I can’t speak for everyone. No, I, uh. Guys like different things just like girls like different things. Me, for instance? The way to my heart? Show up on my doorstep with Caddyshack and a six-pack, and I’ll be wrapped around your little finger.” The smile on his face looked a little far away for a moment, and then he cleared his throat again, pushed off the wall, and headed back to his desk for another sheet of paper. “I hope… that answers the question.” One last pointed look over the heads of her classmates, and then Winchester moved on, and Claire doodled a quick note on an open page of her class notes.

The next time the teacher’s back was turned, she palmed her phone and chanced a quick text to Alex.

_ WTF is Caddyshack? _


	15. Castiel

“You look like a doof.” 

Cas glanced down at himself upon Claire’s observation as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “It’s just dinner and a movie at his place. I didn’t figure I needed to dress up,” he responded.

She laughed a little and got up off the couch, bounding around to face him and straighten the lapels of his blazer. “Relax, Uncle Cas. You  _ always  _ look like a doof.” She gave his dressed-down appearance - faded jeans and a button-up shirt under the aforementioned blazer - a once-over and nodded. “It’ll be fine. Pretty sure he’s not dating you for your fashion sense anyway.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I am not dating--”

“You’ve had coffee, dinner, and now you’re going over to his house on a Saturday night. Trust me, Uncle Cas. You’re dating.” She patted his shoulder and leaned in close. “I won’t wait up.”

“Young lady--”

“What? I know exactly what  _ Netflix and Chill _ means, Uncle Cas.”

He frowned as she turned back to the frozen burrito in her hand and kicked her legs out across the length of his couch.  _ I don’t _ , he thought, and felt a little out of sorts for it.

“Oh, hey.”

“Oh hey yourself,” he mumbled back as he shrugged into his trenchcoat.

“Stop for beer on your way over.” He shot her a questioning glare, head tilted to the side. “And grab the DVD off the kitchen counter and take it with you.”

He dutifully retrieved the requested item, and his confusion deepened. “Caddyshack?”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“Trust. Me. And stop for beer.”

He sighed. Rolled his eyes, and huffed all the way to his car. But he kept the DVD in his hand. Put it on the front seat.

And he pulled off at a liquor store begrudgingly to buy a six-pack of something called Grain Belt, checked Dean’s home address one more time, and drove for 10 minutes in contemplative silence.

He really couldn’t explain the way Dean made him feel except to use the word he’d used when he’d talked to Hannah: Love. It was an odd combination of constant butterflies and intense need to be with the other man. He felt…  _ belonging _ . Was that an emotion? Could it be perceived as one?

He felt like a missing piece of a nearly completed puzzle had been found. It hadn’t been placed yet, but it was there, and it fit in the empty space.

He sighed as he pulled up, parked, and grabbed the items off his seat.

And when Dean answered the door, he smiled -- and then laughed.

“I…” Cas turned away as a blush crept into his face and managed, “Claire… it was…”

Dean’s hand fell on his shoulder. “She set me up,” he said, and Cas looked up to find the green-eyed man still grinning in a way that made the light go all the way to his eyes. “Claire, she, uh. Jesus. Come on inside.” Cas let himself be ushered in and stood rather dumbly as Dean took the beer from his hands. He pulled out two bottles, popped the caps on both and put the four remaining beers on the bottom shelf of his fridge, still in their carrier. “Cheers,” he offered, and Cas tilted his bottle to toast lightly before taking his first sip.

Over the top of the bottle, he was pretty sure Dean was watching his throat bob with the swallow, but he didn’t ask. 

“Anyway. Yesterday, we wrapped the, uh, much-contested Human Sexuality Unit, and on that last day I ask students to write down questions anonymously so that I can address anything they might be holding back out of fear of being, you know, teased.” Cas felt a warmth growing in his chest and sipped his beer again. He noted that Dean wasn’t really drinking; he was using the bottle to gesture as he spoke, though, and that was… It was  _ cute _ . “And I got one-- I figured it was Claire, but yeah. Got one asking whether guys dating guys, if they, uh. Bring each other flowers.” And damn if he didn’t dip his head to shake it before taking a long drink from his own bottle between a pair of still-smiling lips. 

Cas laughed, studying his own feet as he did so. “She’s setting us up.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Seems we’re doing an OK job all on our own. She’s just…” He turned toward Cas, took a step, and encircled Cas loosely at the waist. 

“Helping?” Cas volunteered. He looked up, caught Dean’s eyes, and let his smile go soft. That warmth in his chest was spreading all through his body now, sort of tingly, probably the beer and the intimacy and--

A pair of soft lips on his, the feel of a tongue gently licking at his mouth, stopped Cas’ train of thought in its tracks.

“Helping, yeah.” It was breathed into his mouth, and then their tongues were dancing, and here they were, Cas thought, like a couple of horny teenagers, making out in the kitchen.

About the time that Dean’s grip around his waist started to tighten, a timer went off and Dean begrudgingly pulled away. “If I don’t take that out of the oven, it’ll burn.” He waited a moment, and then the warmth of his body was gone, and Cas took a long, slow pull from his beer.


	16. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been really patient.
> 
> Have some porn.

_Stupid fucking lasagna goddammit this stupid fucking dinner just fuck it all I want to spend all night making out with him and getting into his pants--_

Dean forced that stream of consciousness to a screeching halt as he turned off the oven, removed the dish, and turned to Cas. “Lasagna?”

“Um. What?”

That made Dean feel a little better, honestly; Cas didn’t really look like he was interested in eating anything other than Dean, either. And somehow, in the time it had taken Dean to remove the dish from the oven, Castiel had chugged the rest of his beer.

 _Impressive_. But if their last date was any judge, it was possibly also ill-advised. Castiel needed carbs, lots of carbs. “Lasanga. My dad’s, uh, recipe.” He tripped over his own words, because the heat in Castiel’s intense gaze was surely going to melt him on the spot if he kept looking into-- fucking. Christ. “See my dad cooked,” he babbled as he led Cas to his kitchen table, still carrying the dish and a hot pad. He’d already set two places, thank God, because if he tried to set it now he’d surely drop a plate and shatter it all over the floor. “Mom didn’t. Like, she tried, or something. One time she burned Rice-a-Roni and Dad just gave up, took over. Anyway, he taught me everything he knows, and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with him and sort of picked up the skill. I’m no five-star chef, but I can grill a mean medium-rare steak, and I know my way around a baked dish or five. Here.” He hastily chiseled out a piece of lasagna with a spatula and set it on Castiel’s plate. “Go on, dig in.”

But Cas didn’t.

He stared at Dean, then at his dish, fingers twitching over his fork. “What?”

“Shouldn’t we say grace?”

“Oh, I uh. Man, I’m.” He huffed a laugh and palmed his own mouth in mild embarrassment, though whether it was over his disregard for his guest or the fact that he couldn’t even pretend to know how to deliver a mealtime prayer, he couldn’t be certain. “I…”

“You’re not religious.”

“I’m sorry. Is that…”

Cas smiled sadly and considered Dean for a long moment. “Would you mind if I said it in your home?”

“Not at all.” And before he could stop himself, Dean bowed his head, more out of respect for Castiel than for whatever God he was praying to. He missed most of the other man’s words because he was worried about offending him, and soon there was a hand on his elbow. “You can lift your head again, Dean.”

“What?”

“The prayer is complete once I’ve said ‘Amen.’” He huffed a little laugh that made words like _adorable_ and _he’s amazing_ ran through Dean’s head without permission. “Seems I might also be able to teach _you_ a thing or to.”

“Sorry, it’s… I’m a little rusty. Haven’t… we weren’t really a praying family.”

“I like to believe God loves you anyway. But all of us must find our own path. I… I’m sorry.” Now was Cas’ turn to be embarrassed, and he turned away. Dean used a gentle right hand to turn Cas’ chin back so Dean can study his downcast gaze. “I’ve spent my entire life in the shelter of the Catholic Church,” he murmured. “To be here with you on a… a date… to admit that I… that I enjoyed kissing you, that I’d like to do it again, it’s. It goes against everything I’ve been taught to believe.”

“Little like working without a net?” He knew his voice had gone sweetly soft, he knew he was leaning his head toward Castiel’s, headed for a kiss. He knew he couldn’t stop.

“Little like… falling at 200 miles per hour. Dean, I’m terrified of… all of this.”

Dean considered his next words carefully; relaxed his shoulders and leaned in close, letting his lips graze Cas’ cheek before he said, “Are you terrified of my lasagna?” And the feel of a puff of breathy laughter against his own cheek was answer enough. “We should eat.”

He sat back and dug into his plate before he had time to lose his nerve.

This time, this dinner, Dean remembered everything. Years later, he would look back and remember the smell of sauce and melted cheese; the feel of his own tablecloth under his fingertips as he slid a hand up casually to meet Castiel’s halfway in a relaxed grasp across the table; the warm feeling that slowly spread through his body as they filled their bellies; the slow roll of almost-too-casual conversation.

“I hope you didn’t put her on the team as a favor to me,” Cas said with a bit of tension as they discussed the final roster for the girls’ basketball team.

Dean grunted in the negative and shook his head as he chewed a bite and gave Castiel’s extended hand a pat. “No,” he said, head still shaking in a big, slow swing as he swallowed and looked into Cas’ eyes. “No,” he repeated. “She earned her spot. She’s good, Cas. Real good. Not tall enough for Center like she wants, but she’ll make a hell of a guard.”

“Well. Guess I’ll have to come watch her play.”

“You better.”

A flash of teeth in a wide grin, and more food shoved into his mouth.

Castiel helped him clear the table, after; Dean remembered that, too: The grace and ease with which he stood, bussed his own spot, and then accepted Dean’s empty plate to rinse and put in the dishwasher. It was easy and wordless, like an oiled machine that needed no tinkering. Except this was a brand new machine, and there was no logical reason for it to run this well.

They found their way to the couch with a couple of beers, and there was no argument about seating arrangements. Dean settled into the arm of the couch and Castiel cuddled up to his side. Dean grabbed a throw blanket and looped an arm behind Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel laid his head on Dean’s shoulder in return.

Castiel accepted Dean’s kiss, his tongue, the weight of Dean’s body heavy against his own. And after that, Dean didn’t remember very much at all, except that Castiel was warm and soft and comfortable like home, in a way that made Dean want to melt into his partner and stay like that forever.

“You’re a good kisser,” he mumbled, half-drunk on hormones and the inhale of too many of Castiel’s exhales.

“I haven’t done a lot of it.”

“I want to do a lot of it with you. I want to do a lot of _things_ with you.”

“For example…”

Dean ducked his head. Fuck. It was too hot right here, too hot and Castiel was too dead-ass sexy and Dean really, really wanted to…

He wanted to do _a lot_ of things. But he’d already admitted as much.

He could feel Castiel’s erection pressing against his own hip, and he couldn’t resist shifting a bit to slot his own clothed hardness right up against Cas’. A roll of his hips and he got a hiss and the whine he’d been hoping for, so he did it again, and the whining went deeper. “What… what is that… what are you… Oh God, Dean…”

“You just blasphemed, Catholic Boy.” He latched their mouths and rolled his hips again just to taste that tenor whine he knew would taste delicious and had to bite his own lip to hold back something dirty like _maybe you should get on your knees and pray_ because no, no, definitely not, Castiel wasn’t anywhere near ready for that, and Dean wasn’t even sure the religious man would get the double entendre anyway. Instead he said, “Feel good?” And when he got an enthusiastic nod in response, he picked up the pace and pressure of his movements slightly. “Good. Just relax… and enjoy. This is… fuck… this is about the safest sex there is.”

“This… isn’t sex.”

“For someone who read my whole lesson plan cover to cover, you must not have been paying much attention.” Dean smiled and gave a huffed laugh before kissing Castiel again. “It isn’t intercourse,” he intoned with a cock of his eyebrows, and then gave another kiss and said more softly, “It isn’t penetrative. But I assure you, Castiel, that frottage is a sexual act.”

“Oh God…”

“Again with the blasphemy. I like it.”

“Dean.”

“Hmmm?”

“I _need…_ ”

“I know.” Dean had done this before. He’d done lots of things before, with both men and women. But he’d never - not even as a teenager, not even his first time - been on the business end of unraveling something as pure and perfect as Castiel. He kissed along the other man’s jaw, devoured the innocence of his untouched skin, licked at the sweat pooled in the hollow at the bottom of his neck. He nuzzled and smelled and took in everything; let the wanton moans fall on his ears and wondered whether these were the sounds every virgin made, or if they were as unique as Castiel himself. Everything about the moment was perfect and beautiful, like opening a gift, and Dean never wanted it to end. He wanted to live in this moment forever with the writhing, pleasured mess of Castiel beneath him.

But that wasn’t possible, of course, and with a strangled moan, Cas was coming between them, making a wet, sticky mess in his pants.

Dean gave a final thrust against Cas’ hip and he went over as well.

He would remember, years later, everything that led up to that moment, to the rutting and the heavy breathing and the kisses and the corruption of Castiel. He would remember the light, elated feeling of looking down at the sweaty, smiling face beneath him afterward; the wonderment in those blue eyes; the lips that found his in a nearly too-soft peck.

He wouldn’t remember falling asleep - only that sometime later, Cas woke him just enough to tell him he had to get home to Claire, and that he'd call Dean tomorrow.

He made some sound of acknowledgment - a hmmm that was more like a purr from the depths of his chest - as he felt the weight and warmth of a throw blanket take Castiel's place, and then sleep pulled him back under again.

For the first time in months, there were no nightmares.


	17. Claire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummmm... Hi guys. 
> 
> I have to issue a HUGE mea culpa to everyone about the ending to Chapter 16.
> 
> That last line should never have seen the light of day. I'd been headed in one direction with the story, and at this point - starting with THIS CHAPTER, Chapter 17 - it came to life and chose a completely different direction on its own, and I should have gone back and changed that ending, because it created a giant fucking plothole that I didn't notice until y'all were like, "OH NOES, THAT ENDING!" And then... yeah.
> 
> I am so, so sorry.
> 
> I've edited the end of Chapter 16 to put it squarely on the right track. If you read the first version, you should maybe go back and have a look at what it says now. It's sort of still ominous, but it's important to Dean's arc.
> 
> As for *this* chapter, slight warning for possible triggers - mentions of past physical abuse.

“Oh God. You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little.” Claire grabbed her Health notebook and slammed her locker shut, just catching Alex’s eyeroll.

“That’s so gross.” But Claire just shrugged. “What? You don’t think it’s gross?”

“What I think is I don’t want to think too much about what they might’ve done. All I know is that my boring, white-bread, stick-up-his-ass, emotionally constipated uncle went out on a date Saturday night, and he snuck back into the house at 2 a.m. the same way I’ve done a hundred times.”

“A hundred? Right.”

“I’m just saying. And then he was awake four hours later, whistling and smiling… he’s… like a different person. Happier. Less of a dick.”

“Still a doof, though.”

“Oh, for sure.” She leaned against the wall outside Winchester’s classroom. “But more like…”

“More like your dad.”

Claire felt something sink in her gut, like an L-shaped Tetris piece settling in slowly in a place that didn’t quite fit. “I miss them, Al. But seeing Uncle Cas happy… makes it a little less lonely, you know?”

The reply was a sad smile, and it looked like Alex might say something, but whatever she was going to say was cut off by Mr. Winchester’s voice from within the classroom. “You’re very lucky I have students coming in, or I swear I’d kick your ass back to the puddle of slime you crawled out of. I told you in no uncertain terms to leave. Me. Alone.”

Claire frowned and chanced a look through the frosted windows at the top of the closed classroom door. She couldn’t make out much - just a sturdy-looking guy with hair about the cut and color of her uncle’s, but this definitely wasn’t Uncle Cas. “I know you don’t mean it, Dean. You miss me, admit it.”

“Not even a little.” There was a low mumble from the stranger, and then Winchester was pushing him back forcefully. “I’m calling security.”

“Security?” The stranger laughed, a dark and edgy sound that made Claire’s stomach tie up in knots. “In a middle school? I’m a Marine. Please, Dean. You wanna throw threats around--”

Something happened that Claire didn’t quite follow, but the angry shout it brought from Winchester was enough to put Claire’s body into motion before her brain thought better of it. She barged into the classroom, door banging open so hard it ricocheted off the wall. “Mornin’, Winchester. Guest speaker today?”

Whatever had been happening -- maybe whatever had been  _ about  _ to happen -- broke up in a split second as the stranger put about three feet between himself and Winchester in the space of a second, and Winchester’s eyes met Claire’s, glaring something that sat between thankful and appalled. “That’s  _ Mister _ Winchester to you,” he huffed quietly, holding her gaze for a long beat, then flitting his eyes to Alex as he strode to his desk. “No. This is-- he was just leaving.” Claire watched the teacher’s jaw lock and his throat swallow over something invisible, and then he glared over her shoulder at the stranger. “Weren’t you?”

“Sure. But I’ll see you again soon.” He held Winchester’s gaze for far too long, then turned and walked out of the classroom.

“Friend of yours?” Alex ventured once the stranger was gone.

“No.”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “Boyfriend?”

“I think you know better than that, Ms. Novak. Matter of fact I think you know better than anyone in this school that’s not what that was.”

“ _ Ex _ boyfriend?” She tried again, ticking her fingers on her desk and clicking her tongue at his lack of response.

The bell rang and students started filtering in. Winchester, in a rare moment of self-awareness, ducked his head.

Claire took her seat. She texted Alex all through class, and Winchester either didn’t notice or didn’t care; she couldn’t be sure which until the end of class, when she looked up as her classmates were filtering out around her.

Winchester - normally confident, cool, collected in every sense, and smiling as he shouted homework instructions at his class on the way out the door - took a slumping seat at his desk and buried his face in his hands.

And so Claire made a conscious decision to stay in her seat until there was no one else left in the room. Then she slid her books into her arms and walked up to the desk. “Hey,” she ventured, going for casual, trying to navigate whatever kind of relationship they were going to have if he was indeed going to date her legal guardian.

“Not now, Claire.”

“That guy,” she pressed, swaying up to the desk. “Does my uncle know about him?”

“No, and if it’s all the same, I’d prefer to keep it that way, all right? I--” He let out a harsh sigh and looked up to meet her eyes, hands coming to clasp at his mouth. “I really like Castiel. You should know that.”

“Pretty sure he really likes you too. But if you’re setting up to hurt him--”

“What that was, was… it’s in the past.”

“Doesn’t look that way to me.”

Winchester went still and quiet, hands still at his mouth but folding toward a thoughtful steeple at his lips. Then he got up, closed the door, and resumed his seat, rolling his shoulders a couple of times. “In a few weeks, we’re gonna talk about abuse in this class,” he began, and he brought those hands up again to steeple in front of his mouth. Claire wondered if it was a nervous tic. “I’ve taught it for years. Never batted an eye. But one of the things I’ll say is that a victim is never at fault. That falling into an abusive relationship can happen to anyone, and once you’re in, man, it can be  _ so hard _ to get back out, even when you know it’s no good for you. Even when you know they’re trouble. It’s something I know about firsthand. That guy? That guy -- who by the way you don’t need to know his name, and neither does your uncle -- he hit me. He, uh. Man.” There were tears in Winchester’s eyes; he turned his face away for a second as though maybe he was going to hide them, but then his eyes were back on hers, shining and bloodshot. “It was last year, as I was teaching the unit about abuse, that I realized what was happening, what I needed to do. I’m in this room, right, up in front of class, walking the rows like I do… with a black eye. A black eye, and I lied right to my students, told them I’d taken up boxing and the other guy had, uh. Missed. But.” A shake of his head.

Claire felt frozen on the spot. It was, to be sure, the most adult conversation she’d had since she sat before a judge and some people from social services while her uncle signed the paperwork to legally take her as his ward.

“You should tell him,” she said at last, and he met her eyes again. “He’d want to know.”

“Listen, Claire--”

“I won’t. But you should.” She paused. “Also, you should come for dinner on Friday night.”

Winchester smiled, then - a genuine smile, not patronizing in the way that teachers sometimes did. “You’re a good kid, Claire.”

She let her face fall into a smile. “Tell my uncle that.” A warning bell rang, and Claire’s eyes followed it subconsciously. “Can I get a hall pass?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”


	18. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody!
> 
> Thanks very much for the continued feedback, particularly on the last chapter. I have to confess, I'm enjoying writing Claire this way - but you guys are right, she's processing a lot of things that are maybe a bit heavy for a 12-year-old. And there's a bit of evidence of that in this very chapter.
> 
> As far as posting, I've spent a (very busy) weekend itching to give you all an update but hesitant about where to break up the next few chapters for those of you reading it "live." The tension starts to build toward the story's climax now, and there are some emotional chapter-end cliffhangers coming... so what I'm going to try to do is release the next 10 chapters one at a time but at a daily or every-other-day pace. This is all Real Life-contingent, of course, and whether I'm able to take a few minutes each day to do that, but it's definitely my goal.
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading and leaving kudos and feedback - I know you don't *have* to do it, and I appreciate both so, so much!

“You did what?”

“I invited your boyfriend over for dinner. Friday night. You should make that pork chop thing.” Claire smirked at Cas as she slid into his car after basketball practice. She buckled her seatbelt and kept the smile plastered on her face as Cas shifted into Drive and headed for home.

“Did he accept?”

“Of course. He’s your boyfriend, remember? It’s how this dating thing works, Uncle Cas.  _ He likes you _ . He’ll come over because  _ he likes you _ .”

“And that doesn’t… bother you?”

“Nah.”

“‘Nah’?”

“Nah,” she repeated, and smiled at him again, and Castiel just rolled his eyes.

But then he focused on her a bit more as she turned her eyes back to stare out the windshield.

She was still smiling.

In the months that Claire had been living with him, this had to be a record for Longest Claire Smile.

“It really…  _ doesn’t _ bother you, does it? It makes you… happy.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. You… I dunno. You smile more. You’re less of an asshole.”

“ _ Language _ .” She shrugged, and he glanced sidelong at her with gritted teeth, wondering for the first time in over a week if maybe he was being too soft on her. “We’re going to confession tonight,” he huffed with a shake of his head. “And you’re going to do penance for your blasphemy.”

“And you, Uncle Cas? What will your penance be for?”

“That’s between me and the Lord.”

“And Dean Winchester.” It was barely a whisper, but he caught it.

His lack of rebuttal sat heavy on his shoulders, while somehow relaxing Claire’s.

He tried very hard not to think about why that might be as he drove across town to St. Peter’s.

The vestibule had two confessionals, but only one was open, and there was a line. He and Claire waited in silence, respectfully, and Castiel took the time to meditate on why he was here, exactly.

Was he going to confess to his activities with Dean?

Probably.

It didn’t make his heart as heavy as maybe he should have, and he wondered if that, in itself, was a sin.

The longer they waited, the more anxious Cas became about that issue in particular. Sure, Father Michael had advised him to follow this road where it led. But Cas could be fairly sure that when giving that advice, Father Michael had thought that the relationship would end long before it ever escalated to this level of intimacy.

Now, he was not only guilty of lust - and homosexual lust at that - but extramarital sex, and more lust, and really no remorse until this very moment, and even now he didn’t feel remorse for what they  _ did _ so much as he felt remorse for  _ not feeling remorse. _

By the time he stepped into the confessional, he had a headache.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been almost two weeks since my last confession.”

“Bless you, child.”

Castiel opened his mouth, but his breath caught on a response. He took a breath and tried again, only to repeat the response.

He cleared his throat.

“I…”

“Child?” Father Michael gave pause, and then, “Castiel? Are you all right? Whatever sins you’ve brought to me today, I assure you, I’ve heard worse.”

“I’m.” He sighed. Started at a simple place. “I took your advice to follow the path where it led. To trust the Lord’s plan for me. And it led me to falling… rather quickly… for this man.”

“Have you come to confess a sin, Castiel? Or for reassurance that you’ve not committed one?”

“Dean and I engaged in extramarital sex. I found it… very pleasurable. In the two days hence, I’ve pleasured myself three times on the memory of our act and,” he let out a breath and licked his lips, “I do not regret any of it, but I think that perhaps I should. My… soul… feels conflicted.”

“Hmm.” Father Michael hummed, and then fell silent, but Cas could hear a soft tapping, like the priest was drumming his fingers in thought. “I think you’ve come for guidance, more than you have come to unburden your soul.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“Do you love him?”

“I feel it’s too early to make that determination.”

“Do you feel safe with him? Comfortable? A feeling of completeness? Family?”

“Yes, Father.”

A pause. “And Claire? He treats her well?”

“Very. Better than I do sometimes, I think. He has a… different perspective, I suppose. He’s not-- his search for God did not lead him to a church.”

“I see.” Another pause. Castiel’s knees started to ache from kneeling, and he shifted in discomfort. “You’ll pray the rosary five times and seek forgiveness from your Heavenly Father for your impure thoughts and for committing sexual acts outside of a marital bond. As for the rest, I’ll share with you two verses, which I hope will help to quell your worries and quiet your soul. The first, from the New Testament, the Book of John, Chapter 3, verse 27, ‘ _ John answered, “A person cannot receive even one thing unless it is given him from heaven. _ ’ Pray on that, and consider then, why God has brought this man into your life - for if he has crossed your path, there truly is a reason.”

Cas nodded. “And the second?”

“ _ The heart wants what the heart wants - or else it does not care. _ Emily Dickinson.” A smile tugged at Castiel’s mouth at the lightened tone of the priest’s voice. “Now go. Your sins have been washed away in the blood of Christ.”

He emerged from the confessional to sit and wait for Claire to finish. She was much faster, likely receiving a small penance for cursing. “Ready?” He asked.

She nodded, and they walked in step to the back of the vestibule. 

At the doors, another man was entering - younger than Cas, but not by much. Dark-haired, dark-eyed.

Their eyes locked just long enough for Castiel to catch a glint of something that made his stomach wrench - a pain so deep, this man was surely in the right place.

And then the stranger’s eyes met Claire’s, and on a sharp inhale, Claire’s hand gripped his hand as though she was suddenly 5 years old. 

The encounter ended as quickly as it began - the stranger brushed past them into the vestibule, and Cas and Claire stood on the threshold for half a heartbeat before Claire dropped his hand like she’d been burned. Cas could only frown and look down at her with concern. “Everything OK?”

“Yeah. Just-- I didn’t see him there. He startled me, that’s all.”

Cas nodded, but the uneasy clench of his gut refused to subside. It stayed there like a knot through the whole drive home, and he kept tossing sidelong glances at his niece. 

He was fairly certain she didn’t blink the entire time.


	19. Dean

It crossed Dean’s mind, as he stuffed his face with what Castiel had dubbed his “pork chop thing” and listened to Claire talk animatedly about strategy for next week’s home-opener against a notorious rival, that he couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

He even tried, briefly, just to experiment - as he chewed a bite and kept his eyes on Claire’s face across the table, he let his face slide to neutral, but it stubbornly refused to stay that way.   
There was a warmth, a feeling of completeness at this table that Dean couldn’t ignore. It felt like home.

Like family.

Like this was meant to continue to be this way for a very long time: Dean and Castiel and Claire and basketball and stories about how work was today and a natural roll from the dinner table to the couch with a couple of glasses of wine while the kid did her homework upstairs.

Claire didn’t come back downstairs at all that evening - just shouted from the top that she  _ didn’t want to interrupt anything gross _ but  _ you guys better keep the sound down _ and  _ I have innocent ears, you know. _

Cas returned a contented, “Goodnight, Claire,” and Claire called back a patronizing, “G’night, Uncle Cas,” and Dean thought that would be the end of it.

“G’night, Dean.”

If he could see her, Dean would bet a year’s salary that she was wearing a twinkle-eyed, shit-eating grin. But he was warm and comfortable cuddled up against Cas, his lips still vibrating from their interrupted makeout session, so he just picked up a casual tone of his own. “Goodnight, Claire.”

His eyes connected with Castiel’s until they heard the definitive click of Claire’s bedroom door, and in the briefest of moments before their lips locked again and their tongues swirled together, Dean wondered if his eyes were shining as brightly in the fading light as Cas’ were. But then it didn’t matter because his eyes were closed, and he was lost in the feel and smell and softness of  _ Castiel _ .

The longer and deeper they kissed, the more Dean noticed that Castiel felt uneasy in his arms - stiff, and not in a pleasant way. It felt like maybe he was holding back. “Relax, Castiel,” he mumbled into the kiss, not willing to break contact or open his eyes and risk ruining the moment. “Just… relax.”

There was a groan into his mouth, and he swallowed it with soft lips before bringing up a hand to start carding fingers through Castiel’s hair.

“Dean?”

“Hmmm?”

“I… like you… very much.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but Dean managed to suppress the chuckle that threatened to join it. “I like you too, Cas.”

“Why?”

“ _ Why _ ?” Now Dean let the chuckle escape. “What kind of question is that?”

Castiel shrugged. “The kind of question that gets asked by a guy who’s never been in… quite this kind of… relationship? Are we in a relationship?”

And Dean couldn’t control the chuckle. It kept bubbling up from somewhere warm in his chest, and he huffed the little laughs out in breaths against the skin at the crux of Castiel’s neck and shoulder. “Yes, I’d say that we’re in a relationship. I’d like to be your boyfriend, and I’d like to say that you’re mine.”

“Boyfriend.” Castiel seemed to relax minutely, from the reassurance or from Dean’s ministrations or both. 

“Yes. Boyfriend. We’re boyfriends. It’s a term that gay guys use when they’re. Well. Boyfriends.” Dean sighed and lifted his mouth from Castiel’s skin to study a spot, giving some consideration as to whether Cas would let him suck a hickey there. Instead, he nosed at the spot and then lifted his eyes to meet Cas’ for a brief moment of sincerity. “And as for why?”

“Mmmhmmm. I’m listening.”

“Because, Castiel. You make my days brighter and my life better. I’d been in a slump, and then you came blazing in, all cocky and confident and beautiful… I’d been just kind of drifting along, stuck in my day-to-day. And then I met you, and I came alive. That’s why.”

He barely had time to draw a quick breath before Castiel’s mouth was devouring his, drinking his oxygen, pushing him back against the arm of the couch.

Dean let it go as long as he dared - longer, probably, because he knew he was getting frisky and he felt Cas rutting against his hip and he knew he’d slipped a hand down the back of Cas’ pants in response and was kneading the flesh in a way he’d wanted to do for over a week and  _ damn  _ that body was incredible but holy fuck Castiel was a virgin and--

“OK, woah. Woah. Cas.” He stole one last chaste kiss and then forced himself to draw a long breath before putting a flat palm against his boyfriend’s --  _ boyfriend’s _ , Jesus Christ -- chest. “You need to slow down. You don’t know…”

“But you said--”

“I like you. I like you a… a whole lot. I want to do…” He blatantly looked the other man up and down and shook his head while giving a low whistle. “Truth be told, Castiel, I want to defile you right here and now, and I would, but you’re running on hormonal impulse. You’re a virgin, and I’m not. Take a breath and think about it. I have a sexual history, and you don’t know where I’ve been, you don’t know if I came packing--”

“Packing?”

Dean rolled his eyes and gestured with open palms. “I think you just made my point for me. A condom. You don’t know if I have protection, and I’d bet a year’s salary that you don’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.  _ Oh _ .” He sighed at the rejected look on Castiel’s face. “Any chance you read through the section on safe sex when I gave you that binder?”

“Thoroughly.”

“Good. Good.” Dean nodded, still struggling to gain control over his breathing. “Do you remember all my notes upon notes upon  _ notes _ about informed consent and sharing your history and asking questions and for fuck’s sake use protection?”

“Yes. But--”

“Don’t go falling down a rabbit hole that two weeks ago had you so scared you were ready to pull your niece out of my class.” He pressed his lips to Castiel’s again, softly, slowly, fingers coming up to mold along his jaw. “We’ll get there. Right now, just-- if we really need to get off-- we can do other things. Right?”

“Right.”

“Right.” Satisfied, Dean slid back up into a heated liplock, and this time he kept his hands above Castiel’s waist, exploring under his shirt but keeping his hands flat, just skimming over skin, occasionally pressing in search of sensitive spots. He smiled when his touches drew a hiss or a whine, and smiled bigger when he felt Castiel’s hands touch the bare skin of his back, mimicking touches so he could offer his own feedback.

For all of his inexperience, Castiel was feeling Dean up with a maddening amount of enthusiasm, as though he was trying to touch and memorize every inch of his skin.

They sat up enough to remove shirts and explore over chest hairs and muscles and bellies. Dean threw his head back and whined appreciatively when Cas got brave enough to pinch a nipple. “Cas…”

“Good?”

“So good. You can… shit… suck on it if you want. That’s… oh fuck yes.”

“Can you…?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Dean couldn’t say with any certainty the last time he’d taken so much time to explore, to  _ be  _ explored. The last time they’d been intimate like this - on his couch, in his apartment - they’d spent the afterglow of shared orgasms just tangled together, talking quietly about anything and everything until as some point they’d fallen asleep. Castiel, truly a gentleman, had woken him just enough to confirm that he was going home at 1:30 a.m., because he couldn’t leave Claire all night by herself. He’d kissed Dean’s forehead and covered him with a throw blanket before ducking out, and Dean had gone back to sleep, waking late the next morning with a crook in his neck but a smile on his face.

This time was different. They had forever. It was Friday night, and no one was waiting for Dean at home. So when hands and mouths slowed to a lazy pace and eyelids started to feel heavy even though they were mostly closed, Dean nudged his nose against Cas’ and breathed, “I should go home.”

“Or you could stay.”

And so he stayed.

There were mumbles and grunts that, “We should probably go upstairs,” but it never evolved. They stayed like that, just like the last time, on the couch. Dean laid on his back and Cas cuddled up along his side, and both of them were too tall to stretch out all the way, so their legs just sort of curved and molded and knitted together, like pieces of a long-uncompleted puzzle finally sliding into place.


	20. Claire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys.
> 
> After much debate, I'm posting Chapters 20 - 24 all at once. This is the heart of the "angsty" part of the story, and it feels cruel to drag it out. Much as I'm enjoying all of your comments chapter by chapter, I can't in good conscience leave y'all in a lurch overnight when I have this story finished and am just biding my time putting it out.
> 
> So yeah. Five chapters today. By the end of 24, the light at the end of the tunnel is at least visible.
> 
> Happy reading!

Her first thought was that they were super cute.

Her second thought was that they’d be a lot cuter if they weren’t shirtless.

And her third thought was a question as to whether or not she should wake them up.

She gave it a moment of consideration as she leaned over the back of the couch, arms outstretched and grasping the framing on either side of her body.

Then she nodded, grabbed a discarded throw pillow from the floor, and threw it at them. “Rise and shine!” she called, snorting out a laugh as Castiel startled awake and Dean’s face creased in confusion. “I hope you used protection. Practice what you preach, boys!” And then she skipped into the kitchen, face split with a satisfied smile.

There was some baritone-level mumbling from the couch while Claire started going through the cupboards, possibly banging the doors shut a bit louder than necessary. 

The truth was, she realized as she settled into the task of whipping up instant pancakes for three, finding them tangled together on the couch this morning (even in a state of minor undress) had warmed a place in her chest that had been cold for almost five months. The peaceful image of the two of them spoke of family and home.

They sloughed into the kitchen a bit sheepishly as she piled a second foursome of cakes onto a warming plate. “So, Teach,” she quirked, still grinning. She looked at him long enough to acknowledge he’d put his shirt back on, and then at her uncle, who was busying himself with the coffee pot, “I guess it’s time I gave you  _ the talk _ , huh? What are your intentions toward my uncle?”

“It’s too early for sarcasm, Claire, cut a guy a break. I’m not used to dealing with your snark until I’ve had an IV’s worth of caffeine.”

“It’s 9 a.m. Rise and shine, Winchester.”

“New rule, Claire. I'm cool with this casual attitude when we're at home, but at least call me Dean.” She widened her eyes a bit at his bluntness and watched as he rubbed a hand over his stubbled face to stifle a yawn. “At school, it’s Mr. Winchester. At home, it’s Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Sit down, Dean. You like pancakes? I made ‘em from a box.”

His smile was worth it. The way he sat down like he already lived there… that was worth it too. “I love pancakes. Thank you, Claire. That’s… sweet.”

“Remember that next time you’re trying to decide how to grade my tests.”

“Ha!” She turned away from Dean as Castiel moved about the kitchen. Coffee started to percolate and Cas grabbed plates, mugs and utensils from the cupboard.

She turned her attention back to the stove and mostly ignored what little conversation the two adults were exchanging behind her. But she’d just shimmied the last round of cakes off her skillet and was turning down the burner when she heard her uncle say, “So I was thinking… I’d really like it if you joined us in church tomorrow,” and she spun away from the stove like she’d been burned.

“No!” She could feel two pairs of eyes on her and she turned to face them, worrying her bottom lip on the slow rotation. “I mean… I just think… it’s. Too… soon?”

They did not think it was too soon.

Dean gave her a funny look, and Cas rolled his eyes. And then Dean said, probably louder than necessary, “Sure, Castiel, I would love to join you in a stuffy room full of sinners, confessing things they’re only half-sorry for, if only to find out what Claire is hiding.”

One last contrite look and then Cas tentatively took a loose hold of Dean’s hand across the table. “I’d love to introduce you to Father Michael,” he said softly, in a tone Claire had never heard him use before Dean had come into their lives. It made her smile and sigh, and she relaxed her shoulders a bit.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe she could pull Dean aside and warn him.

Maybe she could have. Maybe she should have. But she didn’t.

They didn’t actually see him until after the service, just as Claire was shaking an hour’s worth of tension out of her shoulders, thinking they’d dodged a bullet. And really, she figured, Dean was doing this as a favor to her uncle because right now they were both a couple of puppies, desperate and eager to do anything they thought might make the other happy. There wasn’t a lot of chance that regular church attendance was part of his long-term plan to woo Castiel.

They were putting on their coats, in fact - shrugging into parkas and preparing to head out into the gray autumn morning - when someone bumped into Dean.

The newcomer’s eyes flitted between Cas and Dean, and then down to Claire, and Claire watched his jaw tense as his brain clicked the pieces into place.

“So that’s what it was, was it? You got a better offer?” It came out tight and dangerously low, somewhere near a growl, and when Claire looked up at Dean, he was nothing short of a deer caught in blinding headlights. And then the stranger laughed. “Tell me. Was he already fucking you the night you left? He was, wasn’t he? You little slut. I should’ve known better--” His eyes shifted hard and unblinking to settle on Castiel. And then he stuck out a hand, offering it to Castiel for a shake. Claire’s eyes stayed glued to her uncle, and she watched his expression remain steady and confused as he glanced down at the offered and and then back at the stranger’s face. “Cole Trenton. Pleasure to make your aquai-- wait. I know you. You don’t just  _ go  _ here. You  _ work  _ here. You’re the mousy liturgist!” Claire couldn’t say why, but the gleeful way he acknowledged that he knew Castiel started up faint warning bells at the back of her skull.

“We really should get going,” Cas said, with a polite nod at Cole before he attempted to brush past, and Claire turned to follow him, feeling a tinge of pride in her gut at her uncle’s attempt to be the bigger man.

“Hmmm.” Cole let Cas go, but he stood up straight and immovable in Dean’s space. Their eyes met and he leaned up to mutter something Claire didn’t catch.

Whatever it was, it lit a fire in Dean, and he surged forward, reaching for Cole’s collar and shaking him. “You shut up. Just shut up. I’m not-- you’re nothing--”

Cole was laughing, and he pushed out of Dean’s grasp with minimal effort, turning to Castiel with a pointed shake of his head. “Keep a short leash on that one, Poindexter,” he huffed as he straightened his collar. “You know, he was cheatin’ on a pretty girl the first time I fucked him. Don’t expect he’ll behave any differently for you, ‘less you keep him in his place.”

“I’ll not have you use that word in a house of the Lord, and least of all in front of a child.”

Cole just huffed out a short laugh. “Sure. I’m just leaving anyway.” And then he pushed his way out through the small crowd that had gathered.

Claire didn’t bother to watch him go. Instead, she looked at her uncle, and then at Dean. Both of them seemed frozen on their spots, a few feet of cold, empty tile between them. She, too, found that she couldn’t move even as she tried. There was nothing to say or do but stand as witness to the moment and feel the tension as though it was her own.

“Listen, Cas…”

“As I said,” Castiel said, his tone so low it was nearly lost in the general hum and shuffle of parishioners around them, “We should really be going.” He turned, not bothering to do up the buttons on his trenchcoat, and leaving Claire and Dean no choice but to follow.


	21. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Lots of angst. Just FYI.

“Hey, listen, Cas--”

“Not now, Dean.”

“I--”

“Not in front of Claire. She’s had enough of an education on sexual intercourse already--”

“Gross.” It was under the breath from the back seat, and Cas chose to pretend he didn’t hear it as he kept his eyes on the road, hands knuckling the wheel at 10 and 2, and lips pressed together in a tight line.

The drive home from church took five minutes as always, but it seemed to stretch on for eternity. Cas’ brain swam with everything and nothing all at once, and he gripped the wheel even tighter. Pressed his foot down on the accelerator, as though he could outrun the voice ringing through his own brain.

_ He was cheatin’ on a pretty girl the first time I fucked him-- _

_ Cheating. _

_ He was cheating. _

Dean. Dean, who’d said himself that Castiel didn’t know his sexual history.

His gut clenched tighter and he stepped down harder. It wasn’t about outrunning his thoughts anymore, but his body, which threatened to betray him via vomit or tears or, abhorrently, both.

He knew Dean was looking at him, that he hadn’t taken his eyes off Castiel since his aborted attempt to explain or apologize or whatever--

Fuck.

_ He was cheating on a pretty girl-- _

_ Girl-- _

Dean wasn’t gay, not like Cas. Dean was bisexual, Dean liked men as well as women, and the way it sounded, Dean’s rendezvous with Cole Trenton had been in secret, outside the knowledge of his heterosexual lover, just something on the side. Hell, maybe Dean was still seeing that girl; maybe she still didn’t know he screwed guys, too; and then Cas was slamming the car into park in his driveway, not bothering to pull into the garage before he stumbled out and vomited into the hedges.

Dean was at his side in an instant, arm around his waist for support, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Cas had just lost his cookies into his own shrubbery. “Woah, Cas-- that’s-- I got y--”

“No!” He shrugged Dean off, then turned and pushed at him blindly, barely noting Dean’s backward stumble. And then in his peripheral vision he caught sight of Claire, watching with wide eyes as though the events unfolding were something happening on a movie screen. She could react, but she couldn’t interact. She could only take what was thrust upon her.

She didn’t deserve this.

“Claire--”

It came out weak, and it barely mattered, except that it startled Claire out of her stupor and caused her to shake her head and take off for the front door with quick, long strides. Castiel watched helplessly as she let herself into the house, not bothering to close the heavy wooden door behind herself. Then he returned his sights to Dean, who was hunching away from him, expression somewhere between confused and hurt. “I think you should leave.” He left the reply empty. Dean didn’t need any further indicators of Castiel’s deteriorated emotional state.

“Cas…”

“I said, I think you should leave.” He let the anger and sadness flash just once, and then he walked away to the front door, leaving Dean alone in the driveway.

“Cas, if you’d just listen-- I can explain--”

But Castiel kept his shoulders squared and his jaw set on his measured walk to the door, and he didn’t turn around except to push the door closed behind him once he was inside.

He tried not to notice that Dean was still standing there, arms hanging loosely at his sides.

He tried not to think about how handsome Dean looked in a suit, how respectful he’d been at the service even though it had to be long and boring and confusing as hell for him.

He tried not to think about the brick sitting in his gut.

He  _ definitely  _ tried not to think about how he couldn’t move off that spot, how it seemed like an hour passed and he was just leaning with his arm up and his forehead pressed against the old wooden door and tears sliding down his cheeks, little drops of salt and water hitting at the floor, at his shoes, dampening his dress shirt sleeve.

But he did hear the engine of Dean’s old ‘67 Chevy rumble to life at last, and he did hear it fade away until the only sound Cas could hear was a quiet whimper of loss originating from his own chest.

And he tried not to think about how long he might’ve stood there after that, either. He only knew that he was startled into animation by Claire’s voice, coming from behind him.

“He didn’t want to tell you.”

“What?” He couldn’t turn around. Physically, emotionally… he couldn’t.

“I promised I wouldn’t, but. I guess maybe it doesn’t matter much now. That guy, Cole? He hurt Dean bad. Hit him. Gave him a black eye, and, you know. Stuff.”

Castiel could only sob in response, and it wasn’t until Claire spoke again that Cas realized she was crying, too.

“It’s not like-- not like you could’ve even known, I guess, huh? Not really anyone’s fault except maybe Dean’s, maybe he should’ve told you, or something. But dammit, Uncle Cas, he was just-- it was just starting to feel like-- I was-- I thought maybe-- we could be--” Her ramble hitched on a childlike sob, one he’d only heard from her once before: In the hospital, the night her parents were killed. She’d sobbed like this when he’d pulled her close and held her until she cried herself to sleep. “You should have let him explain.”

There was the sound of her feet retreating up the stairs, the sad click of her bedroom door being locked, and then Castiel finally turned away from the door.

He didn’t leave it, though. It was the most solid thing in his life right now, and he pressed his back up against it and slid down to the floor until he was fully seated and his legs were pulled to his chest.

He, too, had sat like this before -- the night his brother had died. His last night as a bachelor, the night before he took on Claire as his legal ward. 

He hadn’t cried that night; he’d simply been too overwhelmed with the reality of what he had to do next.

But when it came to Dean, there was no  _ next _ . There was only emptiness where there had once been hope. Castiel had never felt so alone, not even that night five months ago. 

And so in the emptiness, this time, and not having anything to attend to, not knowing what to do with himself, he gave in. He pulled his knees tight to his chest in a hug, hung his head, and wept.


	22. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst.
> 
> Dean's, this time. 
> 
> Cameo by Sam, though, and Sam's super insightful.
> 
> Also, warning for self-hatred and internalized biphobia, discussion of being bisexual vs being gay or straight. Oh, and heavy drinking as a coping mechanism.

The very first thing he did upon returning to his own apartment midday on Sunday was to day-drink until he forgot his own name.

The second thing he did was call his brother, which was stupid, because Sam had gotten his shit together years ago and was a hot-shot corporate lawyer out in Seattle with a wife and a kid and a dog and what the fuck was he going to do when his queer brother called at 10PM on a Sunday night whining about a broken heart?

To his credit, Sam was civil - a few days later, when Dean was sober, he’d be impressed by that and would call to apologize. But in the moment what he said was, “You’re patronizing me, don’t patronize me, Sammy, I ain’t a fucking six-year-old.”

There was a short laugh on the other end of the line. “No offense, Dean, but you kind of sound like one right now.”

“Hey, screw you, bitch. Nobody asked. I just. It hurts, like. In my chest.” He hit himself there, where his heart ought to be, and then lifted his eyes to look around the apartment. He’d spent very little time here in the past two days; Saturday had been spent almost in its entirety with Castiel and Claire. They’d had a picnic in the park, for fuck’s sake, like a fucking picture-frame family if any picture-frame family ever had two dads, and well. It had felt… full. Whole. Now all he felt was emptiness, from within and without alike. “My apartment’s like. It’s so empty. Too many furnitures and not enough asses to sit on ‘em.” He looked down at himself in a moment of pity - he was not actually occupying any of the aforementioned furniture. He was instead settled on the floor like a potted plant, his knees pulled up and back against the wall in the dark. His most recently opened bottle of beer sat half-empty at his side, and he gave it a sad glance. “‘S all my fault, Sam. If’n I could just be normal like youuuu ‘n shit. ‘N. I could just.”

“Hey. Hey. No. Dean, listen. You got your heart broken, and I know what that feels like. But it’s not your fault. Just… wasn’t a good match, that’s all. I mean come on. I know you fell hard for the guy, but there are other fish--”

“Fuck’s sake, Sammy.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh and gave the beer bottle another glance. Then he reached for it half-heartedly and drained it in one long slug. “You know I never really… Yeah. There’s other fish. But I liked  _ this  _ fish. And. I screwed it up. I screwed it up the way I screw everything up, because that’s what I am, I’m just-- I’m a slut and I’m indecisive and I can’t pick a goddamn side and--”

“Nobody’s asking you to pick a side, Dean.”

“This whole mess happened because I was with Lisa, and then I got it in my stupid fucking head that, hey, I think I like dudes too, and look, there’s an attractive dude, I should just go a couple rounds with him, right, suck his dick, let him fuck my ass and see--”

“OK, enough!” Sam’s exclamation startled Dean into silence, and he pulled the phone away from his ear to give it an annoyed look. “You made a mistake. Sure. You know how many other people in this world make mistakes? Fucking  _ everyone _ , Dean, so cut yourself some slack. And as for the rest of what you said--”

“I wouldn’t be in this situation if I could’ve just  _ picked a goddamn side _ !”

Silence, and then the audible exhale of a sigh. “Is that what you’d tell a student?”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, then turned his brother’s words around in his head and closed his mouth again. “What?”

“If a student came to you - gay, bi, questioning, whatever - and they were confused, and they thought they were broken, is that what you’d say? Would you advise them to pick a side?”

“No.”

“So then why the fuck are you dumping that shit on yourself?”

Dean tilted his head back against the wall and tried to pick a focal point as his head began to spin from the alcohol. “Point taken.”

“Good. Now get up from the floor, go drink about two gallons of water, and go to bed. Tomorrow, if you want, you can call Castiel, but if you ask me,  _ he’s  _ the one who owes  _ you  _ an apology for going off half-cocked on some stranger’s say-so.”

“I ain’t mad at him.” The alcohol had caught up, and Dean was pretty sure he was going to pass out any minute right there on the floor. His words fell out slowly in a half-intelligible mumble. “Not mad. He’s scared is all. Christ, growin’ up gay ‘n hatin’ himself the way he did, suppressing his feelings ‘n just bein’ all in his own head, ‘s not his fault, ‘n he’s come a long way in like three weeks, I jst…” He hummed. Closed his eyes, and tried not to think about what Cas might be doing right that moment. Was he awake? Was he thinking about Dean? Was he trying and failing to go to sleep, tossing and turning in his bed, feeling empty and alone? 

Did he even care?

Did he miss Dean at all?

Closing his eyes was a bad idea.

“Sammy, I gotta go.”

“Hmmm?”

“Gotta go throw up.” He stumbled toward the bathroom, leaving his phone on the floor next to his now-empty bottle of beer.


	23. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst, but the skies are lighter for Castiel by the end of this chapter. He deals with his personal stuff. 
> 
> Warning for religious-based homophobia, and discussion of Cas' life growing up in the closet.

“Good morning, Mr. Novak.”

He lifted his head to look up, and managed a cursory smile in greeting. “Good morning, Hannah.”

She frowned. “You’re not well.”

“No. I’m not. I’m… I didn’t sleep well.” He settled for a half truth. A better truth would have been that he hardly slept at all; a whole truth would be that he felt positively empty inside, exhausted and lonely and adrift in a way he could never remember feeling.

“Anything in particular keeping you awake?”

“I’m… overwhelmed.” That, at the least, was completely true. Dean had been consuming his thoughts, but it was more than that. It was Claire’s upcoming basketball games, which he’d have to go to, and where he would have to see Dean. It was the fact that he’d realized yesterday just how lonely he was, and how Dean had filled that hole, and now that it was empty and he couldn’t ignore it quite as well as he’d managed to in the past. Really, it couldn’t be ignored  _ at all _ . It had to be accepted and acknowledged: Castiel was gay. Castiel liked having a man in his life, and the absence of one left him feeling like something was missing.

But whether it was the absence of a partner or the absence of Dean in particular, Castiel couldn’t say. It was all so new. Being… out… was he even out? To Gabriel, sure, but it’s not like they’d talked about it since Thursday, and--

“Castiel?”

He shook his head to clear it and acknowledged that Hannah was still leaning against the doorframe at the threshold of his office - today, as always, cupping her coffee mug, making polite conversation. She was a constant, carrying on straight as an arrow through the upheaval of everything else in Castiel’s life, and suddenly, the consistency seemed strangely out of place. “Hmm? Sorry.”

She shook her head and chuckled under her breath. “You should take the day off. Go home, get some sleep.” She turned as though to leave, coffee mug still huddled in her palms. But as she dipped her head for a sip and Cas made to turn back to his work, she spoke again. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Yesterday.”

He had no real response except to look up at her, resigned, and wait for her to speak.

“It’s maybe not my place, but it seems to me that whatever path it is you’re on is probably not a healthy one, let alone a holy one.”

He looked down at his desktop, where he was working several weeks ahead, because early November was a calm before the storm of Advent and Christmas and the Feasts, and it served him well to stay ahead of all that, repetitive and predictable as the readings might be. His eyes drifted over his own notes scratched on the sides of highlighted pages, along with revisions from the Deacon and Father Michael. He saw all of it but read none of it; try as he might his eyes refused to focus on any single word, let alone a whole sentence. “You’re right,” he mumbled at last, lips pressing together in a thin line. “It’s not your place.”

“What’s happened to you, Castiel?” She sounded genuinely curious - not judgmental. Just sad. “Even six months ago I’d have called you among the most steadfast members of this congregation, destined for sainthood, or at the very least a long and quiet life of doing the Lord’s work. Now… it’s like you’ve become a different person.”

“Life.” He still did not look up. His eyes finally settled on one string of words and he recognized that set of notes as belonging to the upcoming Sunday’s service rather than a more future one, and he picked it up even as his eyes flitted in search of something still on his desk.

“Excuse me?”

Finally, he set the paper down and looked up at her. “ _ Life _ happened to me, Hannah. I lost my brother. I became the legal guardian of a 12-year-old girl. And I… yes. I met someone.”

“A man.”

“In any case, it doesn’t matter. It’s over, I think.”

She stared at him, head tilted in thought, and he couldn’t tell for sure but it seemed she was calculating something, maybe sizing him up. “This bothers you.”

“Yes. Yes it does. Very much. I’m dealing with it, I’ll be fine, but for the time being? Yes.”

There was no immediate response, and Cas returned his attention to his work, returning his eyes to the papers on his desk as he assumed this to be the end of the conversation. But then she said, softly, “Come back into the flock, Castiel. See this for what it is: A reminder from Our Father not to give in to temptation, that to-- to give in to our sinful desires can only lead to pain. Put your faith in Him. Confess your sins, do your penance and accept forgiveness.”

He drew in a long, slow breath to quell his rising anger. Repeated the action, when it didn’t have the desired effect. Finally he managed a tight, “Thank you, Hannah. That will be all,” without looking up.

He waited until her retreating heel-clicks fell into silence before setting down the papers in his hand and instead using open, empty palms to scrub at his eyes. 

Monday. It was Monday, and Dean was busy. Dean was working. Was he faring any better? How was he managing in front of his classes? Did he act the part of composure while falling apart on the inside?

Did he hate Castiel?

...Or, worse, did he maybe still care for him?

There was no way to answer that, not right now, but nothing else was getting done either. Castiel heaved a sigh and stood up. He shrugged into his trenchcoat - old and familiar, but he’d have to swap it out for a winter coat soon, he could feel it in the way the wind stung his face as he left St. Peter’s - and drove. 

He drove past the middle school, where he knew Dean and Claire were still inside. Everyone there was busy; he did not stop.

He drove past Dean’s apartment building - an unassuming 4-plex, and the first-story picture window he knew to face Dean’s family room was dark. Of course, because Dean wasn’t home. And so he did not stop.

He drove to the outskirts of town, and didn’t realize until he was a block away that he’d driven to the neighborhood where Jimmy and Amelia had lived before… before. He passed the 4-bedroom Craftsman on his right; he slowed, but he did not stop.

It wasn’t until he’d parked his car and was actually stepping out of the vehicle to cross dirt and patchy grass through rows of weathered stones that he realized he’d known all along where he was actually headed.

Two identical headstones, unassuming gray marble, side by side and bearing identical dates of expiration. 

He ran his hand reverently over the top of the first, kissing the tips of the fingers on his right hand and pressing that hand to the cold stone, before kneeling in front of the other.

“Hey, Jimmy.” He hadn’t thought much further than the greeting, really. “Um. Claire’s… I’m sure you’re watching, but uh. Claire and I had a rough start, but she’s doing real well in school now. She made the basketball team. First home game’s on Friday and.” He didn’t get much further. A sob made its way up and out before he could even think to stop it or stifle it. Any move to wipe away the tears that followed was a completely lost cause, and he gave up after two half-hearted swipes of his forearm across his face. 

He couldn’t be sure, later, how long he sat there and cried - only that eventually, on a long sniffle and a hiccup, he looked up toward the sky. “Remember… um. Remember, when we were 13? You, uh. You had that first girlfriend of yours, Kara. And you made me swear on a stack of Bibles not to tell Mom and Dad you’d made out with her in her basement? I thought it was kind of ironic, but I just smiled and I nodded and I said  _ of course not, Jimmy. You know you can trust me _ . But, you knew that, didn’t you? Knew you could trust me, not because I was your brother, but because you knew that as much trouble as you might get in if I ratted you out, you had better dirt on me, because sure, you were making out with a pretty girl… but I was upstairs, crushing hard on her big brother.” He laughed at himself, now, and shook his head at the memory. “And I got caught way before you did anyway. I can’t even tell you how long I knelt in penance after Dad caught me with that magazine, and all I could think was what he’d said, that I was lucky it was just penance and not my ass out on the street. He couldn’t-- they really brought the hammer down after that, huh? On us both. All because I… I… was… gay.” He laughed open-mouthed at the sky in spite of himself. “Wow. I can’t-- do you know this is the first time I’ve said that out loud? Ever? I’m 38 years old, and this is… Talk about a confession. I feel like I should cross myself over your grave or something.” Another puff of a laugh, his breath visible by the chill of the air. “Listen, I don’t know… I know you knew. I know you knew, and you put me in your will as Claire’s guardian anyway. And I hope… I hope you didn’t assume I’d stay a bachelor forever. I hope you’re watching, and that you approve of Dean. He’s good to her, you know? Likes her a lot, but not so much he gives her a mile when she doesn’t deserve an inch. Fair. It’s just. I feel like. Everything’s changed, you know? Everything.  _ Life _ . And it’s a lot. But it also feels like. Kind of like I… like I woke up. You know?”

He wasn’t sure what to say next, and he suddenly became self-conscious that he didn’t know where to look, where to direct his voice. He’d been talking to the open air, sometimes glancing at the sky overhead. Now he looked down at the ground on which he knelt.

It was soft, probably waterlogged somewhere down below the grass and dirt on the surface, holding on for the first freeze of the coming winter. 

He absently considered the fact that he hadn’t brought flowers.

“I miss you.” He stood, using the headstone for support, and dusted off the front of his trenchcoat. “And I hope… I really hope… you’re up there looking out for me. Everything’s so new, sometimes I’m not sure I’m in my own body anymore. I’m not quite sure where I fit in. But I never really did fit in, did I? Always the squeaky wheel.  _ Came off the line with a crack in your chassis _ , that’s what Mom said. But  _ you  _ didn’t think so. Claire doesn’t think so. Dean doesn’t think so. Gabriel doesn’t think so. Even Father Michael doesn’t think so. And so maybe what’s actually true is that God doesn’t really think so either. Maybe the only thing wrong between me and Dean is that I was stupid and panicked and turned him away when the truth is, he’s exactly what I need right now. Not sure I’d go so far as to say God sent him, but… maybe. Or maybe  _ you  _ did, huh?”

With a smile, he turned away from his brother’s grave and walked back to his car.


	24. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is an awesome teacher, btw.

“Late night, Winchester?”

“Not today, Claire. You should know that better than anyone.”

To his surprise, Claire softened at the admonishment. Or maybe it was the look on his face. “He’s real sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean sighed and sat down behind his desk as the rest of the class filtered in and took their seats. Let out a huff of air as it seemed that Claire Novak wasn’t going to join them. “Sit down, Claire,” he said, more to his desktop than the student in front of him.

But she complied without another word, and he wondered, just briefly, if she was hurting just as badly as he was. 

The final bell rang, and Dean lifted what he knew were bloodshot eyes to take in his 7th grade health class. Today, he knew, was Monday, and today they were supposed to start talking about the cardiovascular system and heart health and… he really did not fucking feel like it, because where his own heart ought to be, there was a big stupid aching hole he was trying really hard not to think about.

He shouldn’t be here, really.

He should be at home, curled up in bed, nursing a hangover and feeling sorry for himself.

Except… that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Not him, not his students. Not Castiel… not that Dean should care as much as he did. So he pushed himself to his feet. “Chapter 9,” he said, probably louder than necessary. “OK. Straight up? The chapter title is ridiculous and I’m not going to use it. ‘ _ A healthy heart for a happy you _ ?’ No. You guys aren’t six. We’re talking about cardiovascular health.” He went to the whiteboard and spelled out  _ cardiovascular _ . “Big word. Six syllables. Guaranteed to be on the quiz on Friday, so I suggest you write it down. Second, this is the final chapter in the Body Systems unit, so be prepared for a test next week and take notes appropriately.” 

He was up and moving, walking the rows as he spoke from memory, settling into a familiar groove. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

The bell rang and, per his routine, he shouted reading homework over the rising rumble of students commencing conversation and packing up their books.

“Dean.”

He knew it was her before he turned around, and he closed his eyes and drew a steadying breath before responding. “Claire, I’m trying… so hard…”

“You cared about me.”

The statement was so out of place that it jolted him out of his exhausted stupor and forced his brow into a crease. He thought on her words for a moment, let them churn from his brain down to somewhere more emotional and less cerebral, and then turned around to face her, hands on his hips. “What?”

“You-- OK, look, Winchester. I don’t know if you noticed, but when my folks died, I sort of… went off track.”

“No offense, Claire, but it’s not like that was unexpected.”

She ignored his commentary like she was trying to stay on a script and he was a mildly irritating interruption. “And it’s not that Uncle Cas didn’t try, he did, but he tried to fit me into a life he’d already made, you know, and it didn’t work, and we were miserable, and then along came you, challenging his perspective and introducing new things and fucking  _ loving him _ into some kind of normalcy, and at the same time you’re being such a  _ dad _ about me, telling me not to skip class, pushing me on the court, keeping me in line. You know. Like a  _ parent  _ would. And so I just wanted you to know. I don’t know how grownups learn to stow their crap, but if you could just. You cared about me, about what happened to me, when I felt like not a lot of people did. And I’m not sure what I’ll do if you disappear out of our lives and never come back.” She flitted her eyes to the floor and shrugged, suddenly interested in the toes of her sneakers. 

“Claire…” Dean felt his body soften, felt a knot in his gut loosen, and he moved to sit back against the hard edge of his desk so that he could level a gaze at her. Then he met her eyes. “I don’t know if your uncle and I are going to work out… whatever this is. If I’m honest, I don’t even know for sure what  _ working it out _ would mean. But… regardless. Claire, you need anything, anything at all, all right, you come to me. Anything you feel like you can’t talk to Cas about, anything about school, anything. You let me know. I might not be your… I don’t even know. Your uncle? Uncle-in-law? Authority figure? Christ. I might not be responsible for you by law, but I’m more than happy to be your friend.”

She smiled shyly, bottom lip worried between her teeth. “Yeah?”

“You’re a good kid, Claire. Keep your head up. You’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Winchester.”

“Now get out of here before you’re late for your next class.”

He leveled a gaze at her, and in return, she cocked a grin. “I could just skip it.”

“I haven’t deleted your uncle’s number from my phone, you know.”

“So there’s still hope?” She swayed a little half-dance out the door, shooting one last look over her shoulder, and Dean shook his head. His next class was beginning to filter in, and he had to change gears in a hurry - a task his hungover brain was rejecting with prejudice. Her departing words hung in the air.

_ There’s still hope. _

He sighed and turned to erase the marker board and pick up a binder full of notes on mental health for the eighth graders now seated in his classroom.

Then, cursing under his breath, he quickly pulled out his cell phone and hammered out a text.  _ For what it’s worth - I miss you. _

He silenced his ringer, pocketed the phone and turned around to face his students. “All right, settle, settle, sit down-- Chambers, this means you… open your books to Chapter 3, and let’s get started.”


	25. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who made it through the angst and doubt and self-loathing loaded into the last several chapters - here's your reward. Have some masturbation porn. :)

_ For what it’s worth - I miss you. _

At Dean’s words, something warm bloomed in Castiel’s chest. He’d just parked in front of his duplex, at a loss for what to do with the rest of his day except to crawl back into bed and try to recoup some of the sleep he’d lost the night before. He already felt better, more at peace, after his visit with Jimmy - and Dean’s text solidified that peace, his simple greeting reaching out to Castiel more like a warm sunbeam than an olive branch. He wanted to wrap himself up in it.

That wasn’t possible, of course, and so he settled for tapping out a reply.  _ Don’t you take your students’ phones away for texting during class? _ He hit send, and then with a bite of his bottom lip, he sent a second message.  _ I miss you, too. _

Now, he could sleep.

In spite of all his doubts, he still clung to his faith, and right now, he’d done what he could to minimize damage. Now, he could let his body rest, and put his faith in the Almighty that whatever was to be between Dean and himself, it would be as God intended.

He barely registered the walk inside, the removal of his coat and shoes, the climb of the steps up to his bedroom. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When he woke - minutes or hours later, he wasn’t initially sure - he had a text from Dean. The clock in the upper right corner of his cell phone read 1:45, and Dean’s text was about an hour old, so Cas could deduce it was sent over lunch.

_ Coffee, sometime? _

The corners of his mouth turned up; he could read Dean’s trepidation between the lines. He’d put that trepidation there; Dean hadn’t carried it at all, not once since their first meeting, until Cas had so unceremoniously dismissed him the morning before.

_ Dinner, sooner? _

There was no immediate reply, and Castiel understood as much - It was the middle of the work day, and Dean was probably up in front of a group of middle school students, hashing through the bullet points of how to not drop dead of a preventable health problem before the age of 40. If he closed his eyes, he could see him: Black slacks, creased in the front. Black belt. White shirt…? No. Blue shirt. Dean would look gorgeous in darker shades of blue and green, so probably a blue shirt, just the right side of navy, with a striped tie, but that wasn’t visible because in Castiel’s mind’s eye, Dean was facing the marker board, his back muscles flexing as he wrote - what, it doesn’t matter, he was moving and flexing underneath his shirt, that was all that mattered - his glutes clenched tight with his position and movement…

Unbidden, Castiel’s imagination chased a momentary distraction that floated through his mind - a memory, from their very first date, from that Saturday morning coffee that was less than three weeks ago but somehow felt like a lifetime. It was something Dean had said.

_ “I think you both need to cut yourselves a little slack. For Claire, maybe that means she takes sex ed and goes out for basketball. For you? Sounds like it’s finding out just what happens when you finger your prostate.” _

Quickly, so as to remove any opportunity for second guesses or overthought, Cas stripped out of his rumpled work clothes and hastily removed a nearly new bottle of Astroglide from the second drawer of his nightstand. He was already hard, but he stroked his length a few times, slowly, to let his mind and body relax back into the fantasy of Dean, moving and flexing under his clothing up in front of his classroom.

Except, as Cas lubed the fingers of his right hand and shifted so he could reach down between his own legs, the classroom in in his mind’s eye was empty except for Dean and Castiel. The door was closed and locked, and Cas had Dean on his back across his desk-- a thought pulled at the edges of his fantasy that he was surprised he’d automatically put himself on top, but he let it roll, curious to see if, somewhere in his mind, he instinctively knew how this was supposed to work.

In reality, into the air of his empty bedroom, he let a whine out from behind bitten lips as he slid one hesitant finger inside his own body. He felt his muscles contract instinctively around the intrusion, but forced them to relax and kept his mind on the fantasy. Because in the fantasy he was opening Dean’s belt, reaching downto palm and stroke an erection that didn’t belong to him. He could almost hear Dean’s quiet whimpers, and more importantly, he could easily pretend it was Dean’s fingers up inside him rather than his own.

The tingles coursing through his blood were prelude to a fire, he knew that, and it took a while, but he had hours, so he didn’t rush the addition of a second finger, and then a third, and then it took a few tries, but he remembered Dean’s diagram and the gentle press of his fingers crooked into his prostate after only a couple of missed tries.

He gasped into the open air.

He jabbed the spot again, harder - and winced. OK. There was such a thing as too much. But with that knowledge he was able to find a pressure and a rhythm that positively lit him on fire from the inside.

His mind floated back to Dean, and as his other hand wrapped around his hardness and started a matching rhythm, and soon he was hissing and whining, head back, eyes closed, lost in the fantasy that he was buried balls deep inside Dean’s body.

It didn’t take long before he was exploding over his fist.

He let himself come fully down from the post-orgasmic high before sighing, opening his eyes and getting up. He’d taken a shower that morning, but he took another one now, letting the water cascade over his body as he rinsed his abdomen clean.

When he returned to his bed, his phone was lit up with a reply message from Dean.

_ Tonight, my place? _

Cas considered it. The reply was only two minutes old; they could probably make solid plans if he was quick about it. He started a reply to change the location to his home for Claire’s sake, but halfway through, he deleted it. He wanted to talk to Dean,  _ really _ talk to Dean, and not have to pretend in front of Claire that everything was OK when Cas had no idea whether everything really  _ was  _ OK, or whether everything was ever going to be OK again.

And so with a nod and a loud exhale until his lungs were empty of air, he replied.

_ What time? _


	26. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a giant heaping of fluff. And blowjobs, but. Mostly fluff.

He made meatloaf and garlic mashed potatoes. It was comfort food, and if this didn’t go well, he was going to need the comfort. For several days, probably, so he made enough to guarantee leftovers.

He’d told Castiel 7:00, and he wasn’t surprised when the doorbell rang at 6:59. Cas had yet to be late for anything, in Dean’s experience. With a cursory wipe of his hands on a kitchen towel, he turned and strode to the front door.

His hand was on the doorknob when he stopped, frozen on the spot, a tinge of panic gnawing at his gut. How would he greet him? What should he say? Was he sorry? He didn’t really see any great reason why he should be sorry, but maybe he should say he was sorry just to move the conversation along and to make sure Cas would come into his house and--

The doorbell rang again, and Dean yanked it open in the same instant, before he lost his nerve.

He was fine, right until his eyes met Castiel’s. Then he was fucked.

“I made meatloaf.” Castiel’s eyes widened, and Dean just shrugged. The sensible part of his brain said he should step aside and let the man in, but he couldn’t stop talking now that he’d looked into those eyes. It was like he’d short-circuited something important. “I mean, if you like meatloaf. It’s my dad’s recipe, just like the lasagne, and I figured it was safe because you made pork chops so you’re not a vegetarian and I thought I…”

“Dean.”

He stopped. Blinked. Let the interruption reset his thoughts. “Hi, Cas.”

“Hello Dean.”

“I. Sorry.” He stepped aside abruptly. “Would you like to come in?”

“May I?”

“Please.”

Cas walked past him, stripped out of his coat - still the trench, but with a zipped-in lining as the first hints of winter bit through the autumn evening air - and hung it where he knew it to go, in Dean’s front closet.

“Cas, listen, I--”

“Dean, I’m so--”

At the same time, like a couple of idiot teenagers, bumbling through their first apologies. 

“I’m sorry.” Cas’ voice was calm and sincere in the stillness.

“Me too.”

“For what?” A hint of a laugh and an even smaller hint of a half-smile on his question. Dean took a step forward; Cas didn’t pull away.

“I mean. I dunno. For not being honest, I guess? For not disclosing? Hell, Cas, for whatever will keep you here in my space.” He knew it sounded like a plea, like a prayer, but he was way past caring. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” And then, before Dean could process the words, a pair of strong arms were around him and he was melting into Cas. “It’s-- my fault. I panicked, and I made a rash decision, and I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll tell you everything. Everything. Anything you want to know, anything I think you should know, just. Everything. Full disclosure about everything I’ve ever done, every relationship I’ve ever been in, just. Don’t go.”

“I won’t go.” In Dean’s ear, he could hear Cas draw a long inhale. “How could I possibly leave a house that smelled like such delicious food?”

And Dean pulled back, and then they were both smiling, then laughing, and then-- finally-- kissing, and kissing more, and deeper, and Dean wanted to keep drinking from that well until forever, but his stomach had other thoughts. He had to finish cooking, and he had to eat.

With a groan of regret, he disconnected himself from Castiel - and Cas whined, and that made Dean smile in a way he knew looked wicked and hell, he didn’t care, so he threw a wink right at Cas before stepping into the kitchen. “Help me set the table?”

“Of course.”

Dean bent over the pot of potatoes on the stove, gave it a stir, then turned off the burner. He watched as Castiel took two dinner plates from the cupboard behind Dean, and waited for the other man to clear the space safely before he picked up the pot and took it to the sink to drain.

As the water drained out and the potatoes clunked into his over-the-sink strainer, Dean’s eyes turned to his left, where Cas was now pulling forks from a drawer. It was just two forks, but his head was bent and his hands flexed with care, back curved just slightly as he bent over his work. In profile, his body was lithe, beautiful, and Dean just wanted to tell dinner to fuck right the hell off so he could focus on kissing Castiel, touching Castiel, removing Castiel’s clothing piece by piece by--

“I can literally  _ feel  _ you staring.” Cas said it without looking away from his task, and Dean started, but then he noticed the upturn of Cas’ lips in profile in the half-second before the other man did finally turn his head and flash mischievous sapphire blues directly at Dean. “Feels nice.”

Dean could only manage a throat-clearing in response. “I.”

“I think your potatoes need more attention than I do right now.”

“Beg to differ,” Dean grumbled, and he strode away from the sink and the potatoes and took Castiel into his arms. He kissed like he’d wanted to kiss when the man had first come through the door - Castiel’s back pressed up against the kitchen cabinets, lips meeting hard and breathless, hands gripping hips possessively. A thrust and a grind of his own hips and yeah, they were definitely on the same page. “Cas, I…” He pulled back to look into Castiel’s eyes, but they were closed, and so he leaned in slowly, softly, and gave a hesitant nip at Castiel’s bottom lip before sliding his tongue out to lick his way into Cas’ mouth. 

“We’re supposed to have dinner.” But it was the weakest argument Dean had ever heard.

“Tell me to stop,” he challenged, pulling back, “and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t stop.”

“That’s what I thought.” It came out as a growl, and his kisses turned hungry, and he gripped harder at Cas’ hips, bringing their bodies together for a hard drag of friction at the groin. “The things I want to do to you, Castiel… more important than food.”

“Your meatloaf’s gonna burn.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder, where a timer on the stove clicked the seconds away. He had more than 10 minutes. Plenty of time. “Not hardly.” And he kissed Cas again before the other man could draw a full breath, holding him at the neck with one hand while the other worked open a belt, then a button, then a zipper, and Dean sank to his knees at the same moment that he took Castiel’s dick out of his pants, and in the next second, he took the hard length into his mouth.

He smiled around his mouthful at Cas’ gasp, followed by a pleasured mewl, and some grunts and shifting and then a hesitant hand on Dean’s head. It crossed Dean’s mind in that moment that this was probably Castiel’s first blowjob -- like his first oral sex experience  _ ever  _ \-- and the other man had no basis for comparison. Dean could phone in the effort and it would still probably get his partner off just fine, but no. Absolutely not. He dedicated himself to his A-Game, suppressing his gag reflex, humming and swallowing and reaching up with his right hand to tease Castiel’s sac while his left hand held steady at the hip.

“Dean-- I’m-- you don’t h-- oh Jesus. Oh fuck. I’m--”

Dean smiled and dared to look up through his lashes, catching just a glimpse of Castiel’s absolutely wrecked expression before their eyes locked, and then it was over. With a shudder and a whine, Cas let go, and Dean swallowed him down until he was softening, at which point Dean pulled off, wiped his mouth with one hand, and tucked Cas back into his pants before he stood to full height again, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

The timer buzzed, and Dean shrugged. “Told you there was plenty of time.”

Cas just nodded.

“You gonna freak out and run out on me?”

A shake of the head, this time, and blue eyes staring at Dean like he’d created the heavens themselves.

“Good. Um.” He stepped aside to silence the timer, wash his hands, and pull the meatloaf from the oven with a small flourish. “I just need to mash the potatoes and then…”

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not hungry for food.”

Dean was back in Cas’ space before the words were entirely out of the other man’s mouth, and he swallowed down whimpers and welcomed urgent kisses and a solid thigh between his legs.

“It’ll reheat just fine.”


	27. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Dean tells Cas what happened with Cole. Obvious warning for discussion of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse.

They found their way to Dean’s bedroom mostly by way of Dean leading Cas by rote as their lips were pressed together and eyes were closed. They stumbled into the wall a few times. A picture fell down. And then Cas’ legs were backed up against something soft and solid, and his brain acknowledged this was a bed, Dean’s bed, and he needed zero encouragement to fall back onto it.

Dean came down on top of him, warm and solid as well, in a different, more pleasant way, and Cas felt like he was flying - secure, warm, floating and a whole mess of other Hallmark-worthy euphemisms. His hands started to instinctively tug at the hem of Dean’s Henley because --  _ off _ . He needed it off. There was way too much fabric in the way of Dean’s skin.

Dean let him take the shirt off, bless him, and Cas went for Dean’s right nipple with lips and tongue and then a little scrape of his teeth, at which Dean hissed and Cas smiled because, yeah, they were really going to do… this… something. Something was happening here, something very, very good.

“Cas.”

He ignored Dean’s protest and moved to the left nipple.

“Jesus-- Cas. Hey. Stay with me. I know you’re raring to go, but you gotta listen to me for a sec.” Dean pulled back just a little, enough to catch and hold Castiel’s gaze, and Cas frowned and grumbled but Dean shook his head. “OK, look. I. Hey. We don’t have to eat, but I do have to tell you--”

“Later--”

“No. Now.” Dean sighed -- it sounded like frustration and regret-- and pulled back completely for a moment, just to disconnect and regroup before he worked to situate the the two of them on their sides, facing one another, closer to the head of the bed. “You deserve to know.” He took a deep breath, and just for a second, Cas thought something horrible was going to come out of Dean’s mouth. Dean was married, or he had a kid somewhere, or he had herpes or AIDS or--

“I’m bisexual. And I don’t have… a spectacular history of being faithfully monogamous.”

It made Castiel laugh. Really, truly laugh, from somewhere deep in his gut. He only cut it off because he managed to make eye contact with Dean long enough to register that the other man looked absolutely  _ horrified _ . “I’m-- I’m sorry. It’s just… of all the things I thought you were going to say, this wasn’t even on the list.” Dean continued to stare at him, his expression rotating from horrified to incredulous, and so Cas cleared his throat and took a moment to sober himself. “Thank you for sharing that with me. Really.”

“You’re welcome. I think.” 

He still looked a bit guarded, so Castiel aimed for the elephant in the room, hoping that allowing Dean to unload his burden would quell whatever discomfort remained between them. “Tell me about what happened with Cole?”

And Dean nodded, and licked his lips. “I, uh. I’d been with a woman for awhile. And I don’t just mean like, we’d been dating, I mean we were shacked up, I was helping take care of her kid, Christ, Cas, we were a fucking Hallmark family, right down to the dog nipping at my heels while I raked leaves in the yard. I really… really thought that was gonna be it for me. That I could be happy. But then I… I don’t know. I got restless, I guess. And I realized I had an itch I’d never scratched, and if I settled down with Lisa without exploring… you know… with guys… that it would just stay there under my skin, eating away at me, until some day I exploded. So before I did something serious like propose, I, uh. I went out. I dunno. I… found my way to a bar, and I started… started talking to this, uh, guy. Cole. I told myself I’d only have one drink, but Cole kept that glass filled, and pretty soon I wasn’t making very good choices. Cole put on the moves, and I didn’t hit the breaks, and he dragged me into the bathroom and pushed me to my knees, and I sucked his cock. I did. I… it’s not my proudest moment.”

“Not your fault, either,” Cas managed to mumble, but Dean just chuckled darkly and shook his head.

“I got home that night, didn’t even try to hide from Lisa… I was so ashamed, I just… you know, honesty’s the best policy, right? So I told her. Right away. And she kicked my ass to the curb that same night. I had, uh. I had no place to go. I was still drunk, I smelled like smoke and sex, and I had one suitcase full of clothes, my wallet, and a half-charged cell phone, and this…  _ guy’s _ … number in my pocket. So I called it. Stayed with him that night. Woke up in Hell.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“I thought I’d only stay a few days, you know. Long enough to rent my own place. Pull myself back up. It’s not like I was destitute; I had a good job, I could afford a security deposit… but Cole had a way about him. He kept me under his thumb, told me I was better off with him to protect me, because I was a pansy. Because I was a fucking fairy who liked it up the ass and the world was gonna steamroll me if they knew. Told me I was a slut, good for not much ‘sides getting held down and fucked. Told me… other things.”

Castiel wasn’t sure that Dean knew he was crying. Despite tears streaming down both cheeks, Dean was making no attempt to wipe them away. And as for Cas, he just stayed where he was, facing Dean on his side, dumbfounded.

“He didn’t actually make me a punching bag until I threatened to leave. That’s… that’s when it really got bad. And for three more months I stayed, and I covered bruises, and I lied to friends and family and coworkers and students. Until… I just woke up. One day, black eye and bruised ribs and all, I stood up, and I left with little more than the clothes on my back. And that’s it. And now I’m here. This place…” He motioned around with one arm. “It ain’t much, but it’s mine. It’s my fresh start. And you… you’re part of that. If you want to be.”

“Dean…” He wanted to be. He really, really wanted to be. But after a few feeble attempts to verbalize that, he gave up and just pulled Dean into the fiercest hug he could manage, and he didn’t let go for a very long time.


	28. Claire

In the end, she had to hand it to her uncle: He came home that night, and at a reasonable time. And that wasn’t all.

“You brought a friend.”

“And dinner. My meatloaf’s world famous. Hello to you too, Claire,” Dean returned without missing a beat, and he wasted no time hanging his overcoat in their front closet, like it belonged there or something.

And if she was totally honest? Maybe it did.

She accepted a Tupperware container filled with meatloaf, mashed potatoes and some combination of root vegetables. “It’s good to see you again. Here, I mean. Not, you know, breathing down my neck at school.”

“To be honest, Claire, I’m a little worried you might get sick of me, you know, seein’ me at school, playing basketball, dating your uncle…”

She let out a bark of laughter, over-the-top on purpose so he’d know she was exaggerating. “No worries, Winchester.” She smacked him in the bicep and didn’t spare the force; he winced, and she grinned. “I’m already sick of you.”

“Oh, great. Cas, are you hearing this? I’m in your house five minutes and she’s already giving me lip. Kids today, I tell you, no respect.”

Castiel just shook his head as he, too, hung up his signature trenchcoat in the front closet, right alongside Dean’s. Then he turned to Clarie. “Is your homework done?”

“Mostly. I could use a little help with my math.”

“Help like  _ double-check my work  _ help, or help like _ if you could do it for me that’d be great  _ help?” He raised both eyebrows at her, and when she looked away from her uncle to the other man in the room, she noticed they were giving her nearly identical expressions of parental scrutiny.

“The first one. Come on, Uncle Cas. I swear, I’m trying to hold up my end of the deal, it’s just-- algebra’s  _ hard _ . And I’m never going to use it.”

“She really is.” This from Dean, and Claire and Cas both turned surprised looks on him at his assertion. “Not that I’m keeping tabs on you or anything, Claire, but the teacher’s lounge is a great place to learn how kids are doing in other classes, and word around the water cooler is you’ve really cleaned up your act the past couple of weeks.”

“Spies everywhere. Fantastic.”

“OK, OK, look. It just so happens, you’re in luck. I’m no math teacher by any means, but secretly, long as you promise not to tell a single soul, I’ll help you, because I’m really, really great at algebra.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She watched as Dean and Castiel exchanged a couple of looks, shrugs of shoulders… somehow they’d already mastered the art of silent conversation.

“You guys are so gross.”

“We’ll talk about our grossness later.” Cas’ voice still carried its stern gruffness, but there was something else there, too; something warm that she couldn’t quite place, but it sure as heck reminded her of her dad. So she smiled at his attempt to move the conversation along. “Right now, go upstairs, grab your books, and meet Dean at the kitchen table in five minutes.”

She nodded and headed for the stairs, but as her feet hit the first step, she had a thought, and turned to face them. They were already doing the gross googly-eyed stare that people do when they’re stupidly in love, and although she rolled her eyes, a part of her was cheering on the inside. They were a sort of cute that filled a little bit of the empty hole in her chest, and she really liked the way that felt. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” It was her uncle, but he didn’t look away from Dean.

“Is this how it’s going to be now? Family dinners, homework help, the two of you being gross and shooing me out the door with movie money on Friday nights so you can be alone?”

“Maybe.” This time it was Dean, carrying on the conversation, filling that empty hole a tiny bit more. “Doesn’t sound so bad, though, does it?”

“No.” She let the smile widen to the point of showing teeth. “Actually sounds… pretty great.”

“Claire, I’ll give you $20 right now if you take those leftovers to the fridge and go upstairs.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Winchester.” But she retreated before he could respond, darting in and out of the kitchen before circling back to climb the stairs and shutting her bedroom door behind her and spinning to lay on her back across her bed, with her legs dangling and feet still planted on the floor.

She stared at the ceiling for a minute, arms folded behind her her head, before her eyes flitted to her dresser and the framed photo of her parents propped against the mirror.

It was a newer picture, taken the previous winter, during a holiday party. Both of them looked happy, which was how she’d always remember them: Bright, brilliant, wonderful and loving parents; good people taken too soon.

“I miss you,” she whispered, pulling herself into a sitting position and tucking her right leg underneath herself as her hands fidgeted in her lap, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on the picture, even as tears sprung to her eyes. “I miss you every single day. But Uncle Cas and Dean and me? I think we’re going to be OK. So if you had a hand in pulling this all together-- you know. Thanks.”

She sighed, and let a few tears slip out, but she said nothing more. After a moment, she flopped back on her bed and retrieved her phone from her pocket, typing out a lazy text to Alex.

They’d asked for five minutes.

She’d happily give them ten.


	29. Dean

Dean couldn’t quite put into words how he felt in that moment, standing in Castiel’s foyer, facing him at the base of the stairs. If pressed, he’d maybe say that he felt like the air had literally changed; there was a warmth he’d been missing. A sense of belonging. 

It made him never want to leave. Ever.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Your manners are impeccable, but I hold out hope that someday you’ll just assume it’s a given.” Cas’ half-smile triggered a growl from low in Dean’s throat, and he leaned in, claiming Cas’ lips with his own. “Any other giant revelations you have for me?”

“Other than the fact that my brain is at war over wanting to jump your bones versus my extreme lack of desire to have sex with you for the first time while your niece is upstairs?”

“You know what I mean.”

It was all low, hushed tones between soft, tiny kisses, and cheesy as it was, Dean couldn’t resist reaching up to rest his thumb on Cas’ chin, and then brush the pad of that thumb over a plump lower lip. “I’m clean. Tested after I left Cole, just to be sure, and I haven’t been with anyone since.”

Cas’ response was a gentle exhale and a nod, and then downcast eyes. “I’m… I’ve not…”

“I know, Cas.” He chanced a step closer, backing Cas up against the foyer wall. Cas had his arms awkwardly at his sides, and Dean brought one hand up to brace against the wall right next to Castiel’s head. He tilted their foreheads together, and then kissed again. “One more thing.”

“Hmmm?”

“When we… get to that point, when you’re ready, and I’ll wait, Cas, I swear, I’ll wait for you until forever, but you should know… I’m a bottom.”

“A… bot--” A tilt of his head in confusion, but Dean let the comment settle in, seeing if it would take - and sure enough, in the silence, Cas’ eyes widened with understanding. “Oh-- oh. You want-- me to--” And then he looked down, and he huffed a laugh.

This was the second time Castiel had laughed upon a divulgence of personal information from Dean, and if he was honest, it was starting to unnerve him. “What? I mean, I can switch, I just really… prefer...”

“Earlier today. I… took your advice. I pleasured myself, and located my prostate, and the, uh. The fantasy I fixated on… I think somehow I knew, because in my mind’s eye? I was penetrating you.”

That made Dean laugh, too - with relief at what Cas had said, and at the manner in which he said it.

“Castiel.”

“Dean?”

“Have I ever told you that one of the things I like most about you is your frankness?”

“I…”

“Don’t ever stop doing that, OK?”

“OK.”

Out of words, out of questions, Dean leaned down to kiss Cas again. He kept it light and flirty, knowing that they didn’t have time, that Claire would return soon enough with her school books and he would sit down with her to the monotony of basic algebraic equations. What they were doing right here, now… what this was… well, if Dean was honest, it reminded him a lot of the way his parents used to be: Stealing quiet moments where they could, out of sight and earshot of their children.

“We’re gonna have to work out a system where I don’t ever have to watch you do that. Like ever.”

“Hi Claire.” Dean smiled at the way the vibration of Castiel’s voice tickled against his lips. He planted a chaste peck on Cas’ puckered lips before pushing off the wall and turning to face Claire, who was just coming down off the final step into the foyer. 

“All right. Algebra.” He rubbed his palms together and shot her a cheesy grin, which earned him a shake of her head.

“Winchester?”

“Yeah?”

“This is so weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?” 

“Good weird. Also just…  _ weird  _ weird. But mostly good weird.”

“I’ll count that as a positive, then.” He intentionally turned and winked at Castiel before waving an arm to lead Claire to the kitchen table.

He was turning to say one more word to Cas when he was cut off, mouth already open on a direction, by a knock at the door. He frowned and said instead, “You expecting someone?”

Cas shook his head but waved him away. “Go on ahead. I’ll get it.”

The domesticity of the moment kept the now-familiar warmth of belonging burning low in Dean’s belly. He knew on some level that for Claire and Castiel, Dean was sliding in like a missing puzzle piece, locking them into something that maybe wasn’t quite the “traditional family” Claire used to have, but it was comfortable nonetheless, and worth sticking around for.

He wondered, as Claire cracked open her textbook and pointed to the first equation she was struggling with, whether either of them knew they did the same for him.


	30. Castiel (One Last Thing...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's algebra in this chapter. I dunno about y'all, but I definitely need a warning for that. Math is scary.

When he saw who was standing on his doorstep, Cas set his mouth in a tight line and gave a serious amount of thought to calling the police.

But with a glance over his shoulder at Dean and Claire, huddled together and smiling --  _ smiling  _ \-- as they bent over her algebra homework, he shook his head and yanked the door open quickly. He then stepped out into the chilly night air, sock-footed and arms crossed as much to display intimidation as to protect himself from the cold, and closed the door quietly behind him. “Dean told me everything,” he said, head tilted and eyebrow arched in challenge, because he saw no point in beating around the bush. “And so you have exactly ten seconds to explain your presence here, at my home, where  _ my family _ is inside, before I involve law enforcement.”

Cole’s eyes sparked with defiance, and he huffed a laugh. “Your  _ family _ ? Please, Castiel. He’s nothing more than a grown child who needs a firm hand to keep him in his place.”

“Leave.”

“I’m here to see Dean, choirboy. I have no beef with you, long as you stand aside and let me deal with what’s mine.”

The sentence, the way it came out, low and dangerous and possessive as though Dean was some kind of runaway pet, sparked a fire in Castiel. He advanced on Cole so quickly that the other man had no chance to respond before Cas grabbed him by the crewneck collar of his t-shirt and punched him squarely in the nose. They fell to the ground together, and Cas landed a second punch for good measure, to the right side of Cole’s jaw.

He let up then, seething, drawing harsh breaths through clenched teeth. “I’m a man of God; I don’t condone violence,” he growled, right hand still fisted and drawn back in preparation for another strike, “but I’m named for an angel, a  _ warrior _ , and don’t think for one second that’s a coincidence. You come near my house again, you come near Dean or Claire again, and so help me, next time, there won’t be enough left of you to identify your body. Do I make myself  _ perfectly clear _ ?” He took a nod for an answer and warily released Cole’s collar and allowed him to stand. “Now leave. Leave my property, leave my family.” He turned to stalk back toward the house, flexing his right hand as he went, and didn’t wait to see that his instructions were followed.

When he entered the house again, he methodically locked the door before going to the bathroom, where he slowly, carefully washed his hands.

The knuckles of his right hand ached; they’d be bruised purple in the morning.

He let that sink in before padding to the dining table.

“So this is just like the last problem, except it has two steps,” Dean was saying, and Cas slowed his approach so he could watch. 

“But only one expression?”

“Exactly. So you-- Hey, Cas.” 

He didn’t answer; just leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of Dean’s head while reaching out to rest a hand on Claire’s shoulder.

Dean gave a soft hmmm and tilted up for a proper soft peck on the lips. “Who was at the door?”

“Evangelists.” He didn’t even hesitate on the lie; just shrugged in nonchalance. “I assured them that this household was well-versed in the Word of God, but if they wanted to come in, I could perhaps teach them a thing or two. They… declined my offer.” He shrugged again. “How’s the homework?”

Claire looked up then, the hint of a smile on her face. “Dean’s actually pretty smart.”

“Yeah, who knew, right?” Dean chided with a silent laugh. “All this time you just thought I was a pretty face.”

“Don’t push it, Winchester.” Cas noticed she was tapping her pencil absently, and her eyes kept darting between the two of them and back to her homework.

“Something else, Claire?”

“So…” Now she looked down, and the pencil tapped audibly on her open textbook for a couple of beats. “What’s going on with all this? With you guys? Are you, like, getting married or something, or… I mean, it’s fine, I just figure, you know, I should know what’s happening, because when I don’t I get nervous, and you guys--”

“Claire--”

“I mean playing house is nice, but I need to know I have the ground underneath me, OK? It wasn’t fair-- my parents-- but it was life. You two, you get attached, and then it doesn’t work, that’s--”

“Claire. Hey.” Dean’s attempt was more successful than Castiel’s, and that spoke volumes about the dynamic the three of them were already developing. Castiel looked at Dean, and Dean looked at Claire, eyebrows raised, imploring her patience. “Remember that chat we had today in my classroom?” Cas furrowed his brow at that, and Claire’s eyes flitted to him momentarily before she nodded. “So I want you to think about it like this, all right? There’s nothing in this world that’s a sure thing. Hell, people get married and divorced and remarried every day. But whatever happens, I’m here for you, long as you want me to be.”

“What, like some kind of… friend?”

Dean shrugged and nodded on a thoughtful frown. “Sure, except I’m the kind of friend who keeps you to your curfew, cooks you dinner and helps you with your homework. More like a mentor.”

“Sounds more like a parent than a friend.”

“I suppose it does.” Dean’s admission is soft and draws Castiel’s eyes just in time to catch Dean looking up at him, smiling.

She looked away briefly, and then squared her face with his. “I’m not keeping any more secrets for you. Ever. I get it, I walked into that, but it was-- kind of a lot.”

Dean looked down, face flushed. “Sorry about that.”

“Just promise me.”

“Never again, I swear. I swear a… a lot of things, never again.”

“Are you moving in?”

“Not today. Not tomorrow, and not anytime soon, and certainly not anytime before you're ready. But I’ll be around.”

“And you’ll… cook?”

Dean laughed at that, eyes sparkling as he again looked up at Cas. “Scout’s honor.” Cas frowned, and Claire looked skeptical, and after glancing at them both, Dean threw up his hands. “Eagle Scout!”

“Whatever, Winchester.”

Cas let their playful banter relax him even as he flexed his fingers slowly at his side. “I’ll let you two get back to work,” he imparted after a moment where it was clear that Claire had nothing more to say on the subject. “When you’re finished, Claire, teeth brushed, hair brushed, into bed. Lights off by 10:00.”

“But--” He shot her a warning glance and she quieted.

“Dean?”

“Oh don’t even try to--”

“Make sure the door’s locked and all the lights are off before you come upstairs.” He started walking away, but couldn’t resist pausing at the threshold to the room to turn and look at Dean over his shoulder. “And you should probably brush your teeth, too.”

“Gross.”

On a bubble of laughter at Claire’s quick reflex, Cas retreated up to bed. He methodically undressed - he’d thrown on jeans and a chequed button-down for dinner with Dean - and stepped into loose pajama pants before cuddling underneath the covers.

He read by his bedside lamp for awhile, but at some point, wrapped in the warmth of his bed and the gentle roll of low conversation downstairs, he must have drifted off. The next thing he was aware of was Dean, bare-footed and bare-chested and dressed in a pair of Cas’ flannel pants, taking the book from his hands and turning off the bedside light before coming around to the other side of the bed to join him under the covers.

In the darkness, Cas smiled and rolled to take Dean into a protective embrace. He pressed a kiss to the golden hair of Dean’s crown and hummed in contentment.

“Cas?”

“Hmmm?”

“Who was really at the door earlier?” The stutter of the lie was right on Castiel’s tongue, but then Dean was running his hand intentionally over Cas’ knuckles, which had definitely begun to bruise.

“I told you.” Cas’ voice floated disembodied through the darkness. “Evangelists.”

“You sure about that?”

“Someone coming to my house in the evening, uninvited, trying to get me to listen to something I don’t want to hear? Yeah. I’m sure.”

Silence fell over them, and Castiel let sleep take him not long after, his arms around Dean, and his nose still pressed into Dean’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote the Great Maker Chuck... "Endings are hard."
> 
> There's one more chapter after this, but the epilogue exists almost exclusively for the purpose of confirming a happy ending. This is the chapter where I really meant to pull everything together, make it all mean something. But, like Chuck said, there will always be holes, the fans are always gonna bitch...
> 
> Clearly when he said that, it was because Chuck didn't have my amazing readers.
> 
> You all have been fantastic, and I've loved interacting in the comments - this has been the longest thing I've written in quite some time. I feel accomplished. But it's time to move on. I hope you've enjoyed it, and that the ending leaves you in a warm and happy place. Enjoy the epilogue, and see you in my next fic. :)


	31. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set roughly 20 months after the end of the fic.

“Jesus Christ, Winchester, what’s with this couch? Are you hiding a body under the cushions or something?”

“I heard that!”

“Don’t look at me, look at your boyfriend! He’s the one committing second-degree  _ murder _ using a fucking  _ couch _ . Pretty sure that trumps blasphemy!” 

Cas ducked out of Dean’s bedroom, where he and Gabriel were dismantling Dean’s bed frame. He wiped the sweat from his brow using the back of his right hand, which still clutched an Allen wrench. “You’re both going to confession when we’re done here.”

“I’ll be dead before then!”

“It’s only going as far as the curb, Claire, quit your bitching.”

“ _ Dean! _ ”

They made it out the front door and were headed across the grass before Claire responded, mostly to keep her further sins out of earshot of her uncle. “Eat me, Winchester. Why’d you-- Jesus-- why’d you decide to move-- in fucking-- July?”

“I’m a teacher. I get summers off, it’s one of the few perks.”

“What was wrong with June? Or any day other than the hottest day of the  _ whole year _ ?”

They set the couch down at the curb, both heaving to catch their breath. Dean wiped the back of his left forearm over his forehead and shook out his baseball cap before resettling it in its backward-facing position. Then he shrugged and grinned smugly at Claire. “Tomorrow’s gonna be hotter,” he said. “I wanted to get all moved and settled into a place with air conditioning before the heat index topped 100.”

“Oh, screw you.”

They turned to head back to Dean’s duplex, where Castiel and Gabriel were just coming out the door, hauling the now-disassembled metal bed frame out to join Dean’s couch at the curb.

Dean stopped and visibly tracked Cas’ movements, head turning to watch him walk to the curb, and he only snapped out of his stupor after Castiel bent in tandem with Gabriel, and then straightened to his full height and dusted his hands together, eyes locking on Dean’s.

“You two are so gross,” Claire noted with a shake of her head. “I’m going back inside.”

“So, uh. What’s left in there?”

Cas shrugged and came to stand next to Dean; Gabriel followed at a slower pace. “Not much. Your night stand - it’ll fit in the CR-V if we think we can use it, and if not, then, not. A couple of boxes in your bedroom closet. That’s it.” His voice sobered at the last words, and he squinted into the sun before shading his brow with his right hand so he could focus on Dean. “You having second thoughts?”

“Are you?”

“I mean, you do snore like a bulldozer.”

“Oh, I snore?  _ I _ snore?”

Cas shook his head and invaded Dean’s space to take him in a liplock, which Gabriel allowed for long enough that Cas took a swipe into Dean’s mouth with his tongue and then-- 

“OK, OK, enough. About to enter the priesthood, over here. Pledging myself to the Lord and committing to life as a bachelor. Don’t need you two rubbing your pre-marital bliss all up in my face.”

“Mine either.” Claire came huffing out of the apartment with Dean’s nightstand in her arms. She plopped it down unceremoniously on the curb before finishing her thought. “I’m gonna have to put up with it enough as it is, and you still won’t leave me alone with Adam long enough to…”

“Long enough to what?” The low, level challenge came from Dean, and had both Novaks’ heads snapping in his direction in surprise. He shrugged as he felt their eyes on him. “If we can’t talk about it, we shouldn’t be doing it.”

“I hate you so much right now.” Claire gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes and jogged back toward the open door of Dean’s apartment.

Dean and Castiel watched her go, and once she was inside, Cas slid his hand over to interlock their fingers. “You know, she’s 14,” he said. “Headed to high school in just over a month.”

“So what are you saying?”

Cas shrugged and leaned heavy into Dean’s arm. “I guess I’m saying,” he said softly as Claire reappeared with one of the boxes from Dean’s closet, “maybe we should let her have coffee with a cute boy.”

“Well look at you. Seems like maybe you’re growing up, too. Finally.”

“What do you mean ‘finally’? I loosened up months ago. And I don’t hear you calling me uptight when I’ve got you on your back with my--”

“Virgin ears!” Gabriel made a great showing of cupping his hands over both ears and humming  _ My Eyes Have Seen The Glory _ loudly and out of tune as he headed back into the apartment. “Come on, you slackers!”

Dean and Cas laughed and, fingers still knitted together, strolled back toward Dean’s nearly empty apartment.

They surveyed the vacant space in near tandem as Gabriel emerged from the bedroom with one last box. “This is the last one,” he said. “CR-V or Impala?”

“There’s more room in the CR-V,” Cas touted. “Back seat’s still nearly empty.”

“And to think you didn’t want to buy that thing because it, what? Cost too much? Too much space? Something?”

“I didn’t buy it. I leased it.”

Dean just threw his head back and laughed. “Fine, fine, whatever helps you sleep at night, Cas.” But he gave Castiel’s hand a squeeze and they shared a brief moment of sparkling eye contact before Dean let go and used that hand to fish into his pocket for his keys. He held them up before dropping them onto the kitchen counter beside his renter’s check-out sheet.

Cas looked down at the keys, and then at Dean. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Then let’s go home.”


End file.
